
^c 



Class C 

Book .l^^M^ 
Copyright ]^'^_ 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT; 



The Months 



A BOOK OF THOSE HANDSOME 
KIN, FOR LOVE OF THEM ALL, 
AND OF LIFE, AND OF THE 
EARTH 



James Vila Blake 



The James H. West Company 

BOSTON 

MASSACHUSETTS 
1907 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS, 
Two e«DiM Recety«] 

JAN 2 1908 

Copyrieni tntry 

CLASS A XXC. No. 

COPY B. 






Copyright 1907 

BY 

James Vila Blake 



To Thomas P, Hal^in 

My Dear Frifndr 

Do you renaemjber* how often, 
while w^e Were in business together, 
when w^e met ^at morning" in the 
counting room, our greeting w^as, 
"Well, w^iiat verse have-yoii w^ritten 
over night?" Then fojlowed some 
very happy * moments, a * half hour 
perhaps, of poetical reading and con- 
ference. We w^ere not the less shrew^d 
and ready in business thereafter — w^ere 
we ? Would it not be happy for the 
world if all business partners began 
the day in like manner? During very 
many years of such poetic fellow- 
ship w^e have w^orked and walked and 
talked and wheeled and sung and 
broken bread and played and stood by 
graves together. In grateful memory 
of all this rich friend-life I ask leave to 
inscribe this little book to you. 
Faithfully, 

JAMES VILA BLAKE 

Chicago, June 1, 1907. 



FOREWORD 

Gentle reader, we must live on this 
earth and in time. Therefore it is 
very happy for us that the earth, as it 
goes singing in its orbit, discourseth 
so sweetly that it makes time a long 
song, divided into twelve chapters or 
strophes. The moment the song is 
completed it is begun again; but the 
composition is so beautiful that it 
never wearies us, but always is new 
and adorable. If it please you to begin 
attending w^ith me to these strophes, 
you w^ill run no risk of tedious trouble, 
for you can stop conveniently any- 
where; but I hope that through ear 
and eye you w^ill give comfortable 
lodgement in your heart to these 
tw^elve children of one year : 



April, first mother of soft silent 
show^ers, 
May, adding many to April's sweet- 
few flow^ers. 



FOREWORD 



June, glorying in fresh-green summer 

bowers, 
July, that flameth in bright ardent 

hours, 
August, with pouch of fruits that 

promise more, 
September, selling the green for golden 

store, 
October, that the gold doth crimson 

o'er, 
November, glad w^i' the garnered gold 

galore, 
December, cloak of ermine for Christ's 

birth, 
January, begilt with New^ Year mirth, 
February, becrystaling the earth, 
March, soothsaying the spring mid 

w^intry dearth, — 
These twelve be daughters of one 

matron virtue. 
The queenly Year ! What canticles 

be her due ! 



APRIL 



11 



A'PRIL. 

npHE coy maid April hath very 
-■' beautiful grace ; and the grace is 
notable because it were acceptable 
anywhere. For April w^ere as w^el- 
come tw^ixt June and July, or as de- 
lightful suspended twixt mid -winter 
months, as with changeable charms 
she ends the controversies of March. 
Now^, March hath a lusty buxom good- 
ness in a rough fleece cloak, and Feb- 
ruary hath notable charms of her own 
as I shall say and sing very soon ; but 
neither of them nor any other month 
could fit anywhere ; this is a sociability 
belonging to gentle April alone. 

Therefore, having a mind to sing 
the twelve kin, I am fain to begin the 
cycle with April, the one of them all 
that could buckle the zone in any 
place, and assuage w^ith her tears 
either heats or chills. Moreover, she 
is named well, being the Opener, that 
unlocks the earth for first flow^ers and 



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j[2 promise of others ; whence as on the 
earth, so in a cycle of song, she the 
first may claim to trip her airy and 
showery way. 

See now^ how beautiful is this maid, 
the leader-in of the various year ; how 
lustrous with heavenly showers, how 
fresh w^ith green, how^ blossoming, 
liberal to brooks, verduring the trees, 
and always as ready with smiles and 
tears as our joys and griefs tumble 
over one another. How^ fair the rainy 
lights, and how fair the lightsome 
rains, their intervals, their succes- 
sions; and with w^hat lovely blossoms, 
delicate little w^ells, are drunk up 
the superfluities of the w^aters. All 
which I have humbly prayed the kind 
Spirit of Song to set to music for 
me — w^ith answ^er thus : 

April, floral channel o' streamy skies, 

Roral domain, w^et lustres, dript dia- 
monds ! 

Or shall we say. Sweet maid, w^hose 
w^eepy ponds 

Loose their slow freshets from her 
tender eyes 



R 



Laving with heavenly-fiery drops her 

face? 
Ay, so ; and she in every new green 

place 
That under trees or in a meadow lies, 
Poureth her innocent coquetries of 

show^ers 
Besprinkling the coy plenties of her 

flowers, 
Whose many a one into her bosom 

spies : 
She binds them in her breast or at her 

zone, — 
Most willing they, and fondly all her 

own, 
And each in that dear w^armth its 

lashes dries : 
There while on beaded green grass 

she hath stayed — 
Five beads o' rain that day to every 

blade — 
And nooks are lush, and runnels slip 

along, 
Now^ have I mind to sing her a sw^eet 

song, 
Which thus from all my heart to her 

doth rise : 



13 



14 



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SONG. 

MAID April, wherefore wee pest 
thou 
In sweet inconstant days, 
Making a motley of smiles and tears 
Along thy pearly ways ? 

Dost mourn for rough and ready 
March, 

Whose snows (Ah, burly lover ! ) 
Thy saxifrage, hepatica 

And sweet arbutus cover ? 

Or dost thou w^eep that gladsome May 

And eke the sunny June 
So long delay vexatiously. 

Although a-coming soon ? 

So then thou spend 'st thy time in 
smiley 

Tears for kindred other, 
And teary smiles for dear sweet things 

To which thou *rt virgin mother. 



R 



Nay, nay, sweet April, of thyself, 

We pray, more fondly think, 1 5 

Of all the sweetness, fairness, dearness. 
That throng in thee a-brink. 



For this we say, and always will. 
Whether we walk, play, delve. 

That thou, sweet maid, art e'er among 
The loveliest of the twelve. 



16 



^ 



EASTER SONGS 



Every year the Spring, 

Every year the Fall : 
First the Spring when earth doth sing, 
Then the Fall when passeth all — 

Every, every year. 

Every day the morn, 

Every day the night : 
First the morn w^hen light is born, 
Then the night when fadeth sight — 

Every, every day. 

Every soul hath breath, 

Every soul hath death : 
First the breath that pleasureth, 
Then the death that gathereth — 

Every, every soul. 

Every life hath love. 

Every life hath loss : 
First the love that looks above. 
Then the loss that sweeps across 

Every, every life. 



R 



God 's in Spring and Fall, ^ y 

God 's in morn and night — 
Spring and Fall that come to all, 
Morn and night the double-bright, — 

Always, alAvays God. 

God *s in death and breath, 

God 's in loss and love : 
Death or breath him witnesseth, 
Loss and love both point above — 

Always, always God. 

God 's the all of all, 

I 'm his and he 's mine : 
If all, w^hat recks what may befall? 
If mine, all *s love and light divine : — 

Alw^ays, always God. 

Every love he loves. 

And he makes it life — 
Life with never end nor stint. 
Life that hath th' immortal in't, — 

Every, every love. 

Every year the Spring ! 

Every day the light ! 
Comes the Spring new life to bring, 
Comes the light of Easter-sight, — 

Every, every year ! 

Every, every day ! 



18 



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II. 

How simple on its stem a flower 
Doth bloom above the dew, 

Looking to heaven every hour 
With native eyes of blue, 

Native unto the skies ' ow^n hue ! 

How simply do the creatures plan 
Who spin themselves a grave, 

And hide therein a little span, 
Then flutter forth full brave, — 

Flutter, and gilded pinions wave. 

How simple 'tis a man to be, 
To live, to love, to think. 

Who looks forth from his eyes to see. 
And standeth on the brink, 

Standeth whence soul soars, ne 'er to 
sink ! 

O, life is thrice simplicity, 
Plain as the blooming things, 

As spinning cocoon -creatures be. 
And simple as new^ w^ings. 

Simple as soul that prays and sings: 



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O, life is simple fellowship -tg 

With thing, and man, and beast, 

And death is naught, that cannot nip 
What shineth, large or least — 

Shineth >vith one light, west or east : 

O, life is earth-w^ide fellow^ship. 
And death has naught to say ; 

Saith naught but it to life doth slip 
As roundeth night to day 

Around the rounded w^orld alway. 

Wherefore, aw^ake me, orient life, 

Or lull me, Occident; 
With east or west I have no strife, 

But follow with one bent. 
Follow with Easter merriment. 



III. 

The bright new Spring 
Maketh the season glad : 
The year doth bring 
**The grand recoil 
Of life resurgent from the soil," 
When all bright things return, and 
flee the sad. 



20 



^ 



This Easter Day 
Is the new season 's season : 
Its upward ray 
Is to the heart 
What to the earth is sun 's warm part, 
Enforcing it to joy with precious 
reason. 

*Tis sure the sun 
Will rouse the flowery earth : 
The brooks w^ill run, 
The blossoms lift 
Sweet eyes to see bright vapors drift, 
And creature voices praise th' ec- 
static birth. 

O heavenly blaze 
That doth involve my soul, 
In these new days 
Be my heart dight 
Not less than earth with loving light, 
And thorough me immortal know^l- 
edge roll! 



IV. 

I heard a bird sing in a tree, 
He singeth up right lustily, 



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He singeth long, he singeth well,. 
Naught is nor can be fairer-fair : 
Yet saith my heart, 'Tis sooth to tell. 
There must be songs otherwhere. 

Then went I to a prattling brook; 
Its music all my senses took. 
The song is glad, the song is bright, 
And softly shrill as eddied air : 
Yet saith my heart, This sense is right, 
There must be songs otherwhere. 

Then went I to w^oods-aisles and 

nooks. 
That sing more than a thousand 

brooks ; 
Sw^eet chorus 'tis, the winds and trees 
Concerting voices rich and rare : 
Yet saith my heart. This is heart *s- 

ease. 
There must be songs otherwhere. 

Then went I to the shore o * seas. 
That sing more than ten thousand 

trees ; 
The song is loud, the tone more grand 
Than ever angels' trumpets bare : 



21 



22 



^ 



Yet saith my heart, This still doth 

stand, 
There must be songs otherw^here. 

Then went I far from fog or fen. 
To homes where w^omen sing w^ith 

men. 
And baby-pipes that bird-wise float 
Make trios where w^as erst a pair: 
Yet saith my heart. This doth denote 
There must be songs otherwhere. 

That otherwhere, dear otherwhere. 
It rustleth in my soul like air. 
Like billows, brooks, w^inds, birds 

and trees. 
Men, w^omen, and what women bear : 
And cries my heart, 'Tis more than 

these. 
That glorious song otherw^here. 

V. 

"Where are they?" 

Why, here : 
Where should they be, I pray, 
My own beloved? Away? 
Forever and a day 

Heart-near 



A P ^ I L 

They walk with me and stay. ^^ 

♦*Where are they", indeed ! ^^ 

**But vanished ?" 
O, yea. 
Just from the sight of eyes. 
*• Tear-blinded?" Well, surprise 
Caught me sorrow^-w^ise : 

But nay, 
Opake are not the skies. 
**But vanished", indeed! 

•'But silent?" 
Why, yes. 
Just to the sense of ears, 
Or when beclogged with fears 
I have no soul that hears 

Express : 
Heaven to their voices clears. 
'*But silent", indeed! 

*• Where are they ? But vanished ? 
But silent ? " What queries ! 
WeU, well — 
Hast thou naught better to do. 
Or hast thou nothing in view^. 
Or is naught given to you 

To teU? 
Or hath love nothing new^ ? 
What quer*«« indeed ! 



•R 



24 VI. 

Up from earth leaps the seed 
Into heavens boundless, glorious, 
golden ; 

Germ within must be freed 
From its little coffer, broken, olden. 

Riseth life transcendent ! 

Now the lordly tree 

Verdure -bright will be ; 

Lissom branches pendent 
Cluster flowers ; 
Sunny hours 

Warm the fruit resplendent. 

This the glory of the Spring, 

This the life that birds do sing, 

This the promise that doth bring 

Springtide joy and caroling ! 

Up from earth leaps the heart 
Into heavens boundless, glorious, 
golden ; 
Dreams within upw^ard start 
From their mortal temple, broken, 
olden. 
Heaven forever shineth, 
And the spirit free 
Lights of joy doth see, — 



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Evermore divineth ^^ 

Through the portal ^^ 

That immortal 

Life with love entwineth. 

This the glory that doth spring 

In the soul, and rise and sing, 

This the promise that doth bring 

Easter joy and caroling ! 



VII. 

Spring, sing to my heart ! 
Sing to me, bring to me 
All thy bountiful beams ! 
Come with thy showers, come w^ith 

thine hours 
Of breeze, of trees, of flow^ers, of 
bow^ers, 
Of Paradise, carolings, dreams ! 
With voice of bird in the new^ green 
heard. 
Spring, sing to my heart ! 

Life, sing to my heart ! 
Sing to me, bring to me 
All thine infinite light ! 
Come with thy beauty, come with 
thy duty 



26 



R 



To bear, to dare, to earn, to learn 
The wond 'rous, the awful, the 
right ! 
Song of my soul, within me roll! 
Life, sing to my heart ! 

Love, sing to my heart ! 
Sing to me, bring to me 
All thy peace in my strife ! 
By thy fast cleaving, ne 'er losing, 

ne 'er leaving. 
Enfolding, upholding, believing, re- 
trieving, 
Thou show^est the deathless in life ! 
Love that breaks never is life that 
lives ever ! 
Love, sing to my heart ! 

Faith, sing to my heart! 
Sing to me, bring to me 
All thy might and thy rest ! 
With thine adoring, with thine out- 
pouring 
Of light, of sight, of power, of dower 

Of love unending and blest, 
Opens the portal of life immortal! 
Faith, sing to my heart! 



APRIL 

27 

VIII. 

'Tis a sweet story old 

How^ our first parents waked in Eden, 

And unto ttiem unrolled 

The lovely beaming, blooming land- 
scape, 

The velvet green, the fruits of ruby 
and gold. 

Right surely then they smiled 
To see so beauteous a region. 
Rife, in the shady-aisled 
High arches of the leafy temple. 
With things at once imparadised and 
ivild. 

They had all gracious flowers 
Aroma-spilling on soft zephyrs, 
New^ birds sang sunny hours, 
New^ running creatures gamboled 

harmless, 
Nature profuse enriched her horn of 

powers. 



28 



R 



O, it was beautiful ! 
How more could benefits almighty 
Be fair and plentiful ? 
How^ more could Mercy infinitely 
Provide abodes for pleasures glory- 
fuU? 

But O, there was much more — 
A mighty kingdom was awaiting ! 
The hearts of them were sore 
With "sadness of the w^hole of 

pleasure;" 
Divine inquietude upon them bore. 

'Tw^as not that in the store 
Of all the bounteous, beauteous glory 
Appeared aught to deplore,— 
It seemed one lovely perfect splendor: 
Yet still they said, There must be 
something more ! 

They prophesied, Can soul 
Expect too greatly of the Father ? 
This must be but a shoal 
Of his one tide of love supernal ; 
And we who have that thought, must 
share the whole. 



Not that we love the less r\Q 

This region dear of faithful beauty ; 

But soul hath the impress 

Of an "eternal weight of glory" 

And to be dream-full so is blessedness! 



This very glory here 
Proveth 'tis not the all of glory ; 
Nay, though so bright and dear, 
'Tis but a carol in the passing, 
Which we who sing, sing but to 
persevere. 

And so it hath been aye. 
Unto this time from that beginning — 
So hath been every day ! 
As blest in all times as in any. 
We hold perforce and more that 
glory-way. 

So must it be love-long. 
So meaneth this beloved season ! 
To toil love -full, love -strong. 
This is to know the life immortal, 
And bend o'er all the year the 
Easter Song ! 



30 



IX. 

O blessed Voice of Love and Faith, 
That life immortal 'witnesseth, 
And to the waiting spirit saith. 
In my Father's house are many 
mansions!" 



Now Spring doth sing and w^aters 

leap; 
Earth's times a deathless vigil keep, 
And life returns from hidings deep: 
In the Father's house are many 

mansions!" 



My soul, let earth one mansion be; 
The heavens then hear that call to 

thee, 
With all the stars in company. 
In the Father's house are many 

mansions!" 



And mansions more for aye have 

been 
Beyond this round of stars serene, 
Eternal built in heavens unseen: 
"In the Father's house are many 

mansions!" 



Dear Master, Voice of Love and 

Faith, 
Thy word doth live, and in me 

saith — 
And all my spirit answereth— 
In my Father's house are many 

mansions!" 



O blest and dear is mortal breath, 
And blest is life and love,— and 

death. 
Because the soul within me saith, 
•*In my Father's house are many 

mansions!" 



31 



MAY 



35 



MAY. 

IF any man think he hath outgrown 
going a-Maying, ' twere well to ask 
himself seriously whether ever he 
hath grown up to it. I have heard of, 
nay, unhappily seen, poor people 
hoveled or herded in bad, uncleanly, 
ill-drained, unsightly, unw^holesome 
collision in cities, who, styed thus a 
few rods from a great lake, never have 
seen w^aters glisten, nor heard them 
wash forth music, nor in any manner 
nor in any w^eather come near them. 
Or packed straightly and crow^ded a 
short wagon-ride from the country, 
they never have beheld green trees or 
growing flowers, or a brook, or a cow, 
nor know^n w^hat milk is, believing it a 
kind of manufacture. This is a pit- 
eous misery ; and some persons, or all 
together, are to blame for it ; and if all 
together, then they most w^ho are 
most powerful and rich. The denun- 
ciation of Amos >vill come upon 



36 



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them, — " Thus saith the Lord, For 
three transgressions of Israel, yea, for 
four, I will not turn away the punish- 
ment thereof; because they sold the 
righteous for silver and the needy for 
a pair of shoes. * * * ^ Therefore 
the flight shall perish from the swift, 
and the strong shall not strengthen his 
force, neither shall the mighty deliver 
himself" (Amos, II ) . And one man- 
ner of this punishment on them who 
scrape together too much w^hile many 
get too little, is that they are as they 
are ; for no penalty is so pitiless as just 
this, to be pitiless, and toss about 
their kickshaws in the face of them 
w^ho want bread. More wretched, I 
mean in a w^orse way wretched, than 
they who herd \vhere plashing waves 
almost wash their ears, yet they can 
hear them not and their backs are bent 
from them to toils — more wretched 
are they w^ho have leisure and w^ide 
houses and w^agons, yet never get 
them forth a-Maying, and know^ not 
how^ the May-Apple looks w^hen it 
pushes its parachute of foliage through 
the soft soil, nor ever tenderly brush 



M 



away brown leaves to inhale, from oy 
under them, the compounded flavor 
of the pink Arbutus and the wet 
delicious mould. 

But w^hat has become of his love-life 
w^ho takes not to fields and w^oods in 
May-days ? I w^arrant me there w^as 
a time w^hen he was every >vhit as 
lusty for a-Maying as young Arcite 
for Emily, when to get greenery for 
her, and to observe ceremony to 
May, he 

"Is ridden to the feldes him to pley. 
Out of the court w^ere it a mile or 

twey, 
And to the grove of which that I 

you told 
By adventure his way he gan to 

hold, 
To maken him a gerlond of the 

greves. 
Were it of woodbine or of hauthorn 

leves. 
And loud he song again the sonne 

shene : 
O Maye, with all thy floures and 

thy grene, 



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o g Right welcome be thou, faire freshe 

May; 
I hope that I some grene here getten 
may. " 

But this old dreary fellow, who will 
not go a-Maying now^, w^as he alert 
for the maid, and is he now dull for 
the matron ? But when by him she 
is no longer a maid, then forever 
should he be " by twenty thousand fold 
liefer to be in forest wild " at this sea- 
son, and pledge her with every bow- 
ery romance. Or mayhap is it she 
who hath grown dull ? Or hath each 
ground the other to a w^orldly dull- 
ness, a partnership whose account of 
profit and loss falls the wrong way ? 

But how bright the sight when old 
lovers go a-Maying together as ro- 
mantically as ever, with the young 
ones hard by whose hearts and feet 
dance together along the same old 
w^ays. 

Having these thoughts, I made 
known to the kind Spirit of Song that 
it w^ere great boon to me if the Spirit 
would tune the thoughts, or some of 



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them, with verse. Then after >vaiting 
some time (for the Spirit often de- 
mandeth much piety of waiting), I 
received what follows ; and I humbly 
w^ould it might be so w^orthy and 
fortunate, or become so by time, as to 
draw^ some sweet music to it, and every 
year be among the carols sung on May 
Day by the choir of Magdalen College 
atop of the beautiful tower thereof: 



39 



40 



M 



SONG. 

T KNOW a merry month whose all 

^ out-doors 

Is filled with rippling frolics of the play 
Of children ; 

The woods are aisles, and all the fields 
are floors 

For flowery hunt and flowery dances 
gay 

Of children : 

The month is May. 

That same bright double-fortnight 

hath a boon 
For the bright youth who seek a 
w^ilding w^ay 

For lovers ; 
Who loves his love approves the soft- 
ened rune 
Of w^inds in w^oods 'neath twilight 's 
fondling ray 

For lovers : 

The month is May . 



M 



And aged and mid-aged lovers true — 
Most true, more blest than youth 
dreams night or day, 
Old lovers, 
Because enriched with life — roman- 
cing too 
They pair a-wilding in the sweet 
old w^ay, 

Old lovers : 

The month is May. 

For children and young lovers and 

old pairs 
There 's rue and columbine and bar- 
berry spray. 

With violets. 
Wild strawberries that sweeten south 

slope airs. 
And laurels that o'erhang and hide 
aw^ay 

The violets : 

The month is May. 

Marsh marigold and mandrake and 

bright thorn, 
And potentilla 'mid its grassy way. 
And early rose. 



41 



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AO I"s» the cornel, the rhodora lorn, 
Pyrus ; and vies the arethusa gay 
With early rose : 
The month is May! 



JUNE 



JUNE. 

IN this happy climate (for truly I 
would call its rigors no little of its 
happiness) June hath been long the 
battle field of perfections, or the 
jousting lists of them, wherein they 
contend which shall be accounted 
the most eminent, w^hether the balm 
of the air, or the greenery of the 
trees, or the parliament of the flow^ers^ 
or the colloquies of the birds, or *'the 
sun by day and the moon and stars by 
night." 

*' Th ' enameled knacks o ' the mead 
or garden", is what a poet ( *'The 
Two Noble Kinsmen", Act 3, Sc. 1) 
calls the flowers. Which is to say, 
the earth hath a knack of blossoming, 
a facility and nature — let it alone, and 
it will blossom; like the untoilsome 
craft of those gentle sincere persons 
who can not come near you without 
dressing you in their good spirits. 
And surely ia June the earth hath 



47 



48 



J U N 



arrived at its full rondure of advent. 
'Tis like a sun, yet never overscorch- 
ing, rather like a fair flush of warm 
morning ; or like a moon, yet not at 
bold fulness, but crescently foreshow- 
ing the orb to follow ; or like a star, 
but not fixed and cold, rather like 
Hesper attending lovers ; or like music, 
but not loud and martial, rather as a 
soft voice nearing silence. 

Being able to think of nothing ex- 
ceeding the perfectness of many a 
chamber of time in the house of June, 
I besought the kind Spirit of Song to 
bring me to some versing of these 
images, and my entreaty was answered 
thus: 



J U N 



ID YL. 

JUNE is the sun of months; not as 
he burns 

In tawny Arabian deserts, but as he 
glows 

Like Withe young hunter, w^ho, hab- 
ited in green, 

Follows dark game, drives flying 
Erebus. 

Or June 's the moon of months ; a 
delicate orb, — 

Not like th' emboldened round,- bar- 
baric gold 

Swung on swart Night, but like the 
tender crescent. 

Gilt on gold sky, i' the twilight o' 
night and day. 

Or June's the star of months ; not like 
the glitter 

Of steely inclement points, but like 
w^arm Hesper's 

Sw^eet invitation, who lights the shad- 
ow^ing sky 



49 



50 



U N 



With lovers' lamp, beauteous for 

seemly tryst. 
Or June 's the music of months ; not 

like the trumpets 
Of rocky-mouthed torrents, nor like 

stretched billows 
Fingered by tempests, but like soft 

repetitions 
Of panting love, whose breathings 

hesitate. 
What 's lovely, dulcet, lustrous, prod' 

igal, light, 
What 's most remembered, marveled 

musical, merry. 
All colors — green, carnation, lilac 

gold. 
All new^ness, softness, sweetness,— 

that is June. 



JULY 



JULY. 

Standing one morning at my matin 
exercises, facing a wall against wiiich 
I was throwing my weight on arms and 
shoulders and back, I observed some 
wavering shadows on the w^all, and 
looked around at the sunny w^indow 
surprised, for there w^as nothing mov- 
ing between the light and the vertical 
surface. All w^as still, yet there plain- 
ly w^ere the flickering shadow^s. Soon 
I saw^ the cause, namely, a lamp burn- 
ing with a very small flame. The air 
above it was quivering across the sun- 
beams, and the quivers w^ere cast, like 
ascending clouds, on the w^all. I 
found this charming. For I could see 
no motion in the air directly, yet the 
soft w^aves came to shore on the wall 
in the shadow^s. Being a great lover of 
heat — w^hich now^ I speak of touching 
the month of July — no temperature 
ever being too high for me, willing, as 
I w^ere, to re'^^'ce in eighty degrees in 



55 



56 



/ U 



the shade all summer long, I was de- 
lighted with the ripples of it on the 
wall. I was willing to call it delicate 
heat advanced to visibility ; and my 
thoughts truly reveled in that fancy, 
as my body revels in fine heat-fervors. 

But yet, let me say, the shadowy 
presence w^ere far from sufficing me. 
I must have a real fire-sea, like Yima, 
and I think I come out of it full of in- 
clination and strength to stretch the 
earth, as Yima did. How glorious is 
the pulsing billowy heat of a July 
noon at its best quality or high tide ! I 
will accept no covering less royal than 
a tree. Under a tree, lying on my 
back, w^ith " my fine features turned 
up to the sky " like Christopher North, 
I give me up to melting fervorously 
into the air, which is a sun-sea agi- 
tated w^ith a splendid hot trembling 
throughout. 

Belike few^ are the lovers of great 
heat. The more pity for them. Heat 
is life, from the tremendous fire-mist 
to this present lovely urbanity of the 
earth. By "the refiner's fire " of the 
sun the air gains an elemental sweet- 



J u 



ness, full-laden with fragrances of 
wood and field, the tree under which 
I lie bathes me in its distilling essence, 
and the very soil breathes forth easy 
health after the cautery and probings 
of the sun ; while in the noon fire of a 
July day the rank vapors, infestings, 
decays, the out-going dumpings of 
Nature, if so I may say, find their vast 
crematory. 

Thus tree-cabined, I ardently, albeit 
w^ith a cool domestic content of w^ait- 
ing, besought the dear Spirit of Song 
to grant me some versing of this fer- 
vorous month ; w^hereto, after a good 
heat-ministered time, this little pastor- 
al w^as vouchsafed : 



57 



58 



U 



SONG. 

O, the fervorous heat, the ardurous 

heat, 

The opulent, tremulant, pulsing heat. 

The shiver and shimmer, 

The flicker and glimmer 

O* the undulant wagging of heat i' 

the air. 
Of heat i' the hyaline air! 

The little birds sing in the fiery dawn. 
The wonderful, fiery, glorying dawn. 

With crooning and tuning ; 

But soon they are nooning. 
And silent as sun i' the heat-laden air. 
As dawn i' the gold-bearing air. 

The little rills start from the hills for 

the ocean, 
The mother of rain and of music, the 
ocean ; 

But the gushing, the flushing, 
The rushing, are hushing 



/ u 



When water itself is athirst i' the air, CO 
r the ocean of fire i' the air. 



Balsams of pinery, fernery, hay. 
Attars of soil and the sun-mellowed 
hay. 

Are rimming and skimming. 
Are brimming and swimming 
The woods-sweetened, meadowed 

and muscadine air. 
The hay-balmy balsamined air. 

Flaming July ! calescent to argent, 
O'er-blazing the red and the golden to 
argent ! 

Sun-hours replete 

With showery heat. 
Burning to w^hite-hot the azure of air, 
To argent the opaline air ! 



AUGUST 



AUGUST. 63 

A S April blithely foretells summer, 
-^^ so August sturdily hints of win- 
ter. The mornings and evenings grow 
cold, while yet the summer triumphs 
at noon. I assure you, friendly read- 
er, I have shivered well, with no little 
discomfort and no trifling danger, 
during a long ride over a bleak 
country at very early dawn of a fine 
August day. One such ride I recall 
specially, and cold indeed it w^as. My 
journey-friend was discoursing volu- 
bly to my blue ears, when we passed 
by a lonely field, spangled and glitter- 
ing with the sharp jewels that hung 
italics on the cold everywhere. In 
the pasture was a solitary bossy, 
who had passed the chill night there. 
"Moo-oo-oo," said the calf. "Good 
morning", cried my friend, incident- 
ally but heartily, continuing his dis- 
course to me with no breath of inter- 
ruption. 'Twas a fine bit of current 
courtesy on both sides. 



64 



U G U 



Yes, truly, if April be a coy maid, 
rich enough to fling diamond showers 
from one rosy hand while w^ith the 
other she scoops light from the heart 
of the sun to make her rainbow^ bril- 
liants, matronly-rich August dips her 
w^arm finger-tips into bow^ls of frost 
to comfort the brow^ of the sun-king. 

This month hath virtue to bring 
to pass things of her own, and yet 
keeps hosts of others. In large and 
generous folds, and sweeping the car- 
petry of the green, trails August's 
royal mantle splendidly embroidered 
w^ith blossoms, w^hereof the earlier 
sisters have wrought many, but some 
are her ow^n creations. Looking at 
this plentiful beauty, I w^ooed the 
kind Spirit of Song in the name of 
the beauty, and the Spirit sang August 
to me thus : 



U G U 



O'DE. 

RICH AUGUST hath a forelock in 
his eyes, 

Winter's first hint, Sibylline leaves of 
frost, 

The sun 's love o ' the snow, the 
snow 's requital — 

Foregleams like land-birds to the 
distant ships. 

For now the morning breathes pro- 
phetic rigor. 

And though high noon, w^here its 
hot chariot carries 

King Sun w^ith blazing axle, melts the 
sky, 

The baby cold coos from sw^eet eve- 
ning 's arms. 

Mayhap the whole day makes the 

flow^er. 
That something gains from every 

hour, 
And not alone the noontide fire 



65 



66 



U G U 



Doth bid them open to desire, 
And not alone cold morning dews 
Have sparkles all the blossoms use, 
And not alone the evening chill 
Doth energize their blooming will, 
But every sixty minutes o 'er 
They something pick from th' 

twenty-four. 
Hence now the Wolfsbane brave 

appears, 
Desmodium slender waves his ears. 
Breaks forth the gold Leontodon, 
And Starw^orts put their fringes on. 
Nor these alone, bright August 

flow^ers, 
Are cooled and warmed into their 

pow^ers. 
But many a lovely blossom lingers, 
E 'en some that April's showery 

fingers 
. Shook out into their vanward bloom. 
That muster now in August 's room. 
July 's gold Foxglove hath for fellow^ 
The still-seen Potentilla 's yellow. 
And here delayeth stoutly yet 
The royal Yellow Violet. 
Still w^inks the mead with Blue-eyed 

grass, 



U G U 



Nyinphaea floats on watery glass, 
And to the same sun-sprinkled pond 
Are yellow lilies no less fond. 
The Jewel-weed its spotted horn 
Droops o 'er the marsh where th' 

Cress is born, 
Low^ blushes soft Polygala, 
Gay glows the gold Baptisia, 
And w^ayside gleams Linaria. 
Looks up the w^oodsy Pyrola, 
The splendid Cardinal is seen, 
Church -crimsoned more than king or 

queen ; 
The Honeysuckle, Clematis, 
The Centaury and Lathyrus, 
The alabaster Indian Pipe, — 
For these, and hosts, the month is 

ripe. 

So flowery is August 's golden noon. 
So flowery the morning of her cool- 
ness. 
So flowery her winter-hint o ' nights. 
And field and vineyard burn with gold 

and purple. 
These days are royal like a king's 
retinue : 



67 



68 



A U G U 



First come the fore-guards, plain, the 

cold mornings ; 
Last ride the rear-ranks, plain, the 

cold nights ; 
Between them mounts the King, the 

golden noon. 



SEPTEMBER 



SE'PTEMBER. 73 

THE last month of summer in this 
climate. And a good orator for 
valedictory, — her mid -day fires are 
fervent, and the mornings a glow. 
But also this is an equinoctial month. 
"The great September gales" are as 
famous as the blusterings of Brother 
March, the fellow in equal nights. I 
have seen a September gale enter a 
sea-board tow^n and set the house- 
leaves, I mean shingles, a-flying w^ith 
the tree-leaves. But if like March in 
adventurous winds, with what a dif- 
ference ! No snow nor ice nor cold, 
but splendid warmth, and greens 
shading toward purples, reds and 
browns, w^ith bevies of flowers still 
trooping. If we call March a burly 
honest lad, w^ith veins full of his w^in- 
ter ancestry, to what may we liken 
the fulfilled ripeness of September, 
triumphing equally in pow^ers of ma- 
rine gales and of sun-mellowed land- 
acres } Whether a lion 's gentleness, 



74 



SEPTEMBER 



or a good man 's ire, or battle-fields 
among roses, fit to our fancy, we 
know here a mighty heart-beat with 
a saving tenderness. 

The names of the months are all 
agreeable words, though some have 
more euphony than others, and among 
these are April and the two sets of 
rhymers ending in AR y and EMBER, 
September is a gliding name, that trips 
from tongue by letters well affiliated, 
yet stronger by consonants than the 
other EMBER names, and, if I mistake 
not, hath a hint of both the ease and 
the sound of the winds. It is curious 
perhaps that, despite the softness and 
pleasantness of the sound, there are 
but four words in our language ( if we 
count MEMBER and its compounds 
as one) that rhyme with EMBER, and 
three of these are month-names. 
April is a fine word ; so is October ; 
February little or not at all behind, and 
September w^orthy of the company. 

I know^ not whether more than 
some of her w^arm sisters September 
array herself in **the gray domino of 
the fog", but certainly lovely gray 



SE'PTEMSER 



days and misty alliances of soft vistas yq 
belong to her. Well I remember one 
setting forth of me on such a gray 
day, in the morning. The sky was not 
cloudy in masses, but evenly ocean- 
deep everywhere w^ith impenetrable 
vapor. The lacey light had no one 
spot on earth or in the sky which was 
brighter than any other place, but 
there w^as a suffusion of impartial 
veiled luminosity as soft as dove 's 
down. "My heart leaped up when I 
beheld " the beauty of air and of gray 
heavens stooping close, like a Sister 
Evangeline bending over me. Then 
came a dear thought of her who once 
had welcomed with tears some verse 
of mine just because it was not ad- 
dressed to her, but forsook her, she 
said, for a higher flight of thought. 
If poesy of mine w^ere conceived 
w^orth those tears, I w^ished for more, 
and cried. Come, lovely gray day, I 
pray thee speak music through me 
wherewith her heart may dissolve 
again. Then the tender pearl -light of 
time and place became this sonnet 



SEPTEMBER 



yg How beautiful this day, to eye- 

sight, mind -sight, 
And histories of God how beautiful 
With all their wonderments by fore- 
sight, hind -sight. 
And all their glow^ that 's deep a 

heaven-full ! 
Behold a day all gray, the very air 
Is gauzy-gray — this misty brushes do ; 
Mine eye doth revel in the soft pearl- 
fair. 
But with the mind *s eye I see through 

to blue. 
And here 's a gray that 's a gray 

sw^eep of time ; 
Sight likes it not — it sends a chill 

abroad ; 
But I 've an eye that looks through 

gray or grime 
To see that 'fore and after there i& 
God. 

This gray spread on the blue I 

love right well ! 
What story of man that not of God 
doth tell! 



SEPTEMBER 



But long before this gray-day jubi- 
lancy I had besought the dear Spirit 
of Song to grant me a lay of Septem- 
ber. " ' Tis a warm rich month," 
said I. "A song of her is worthy of a 
thought-theme," answered the Spirit. 
"Wilt, then," said I, "put into the 
song a thought drawn from storm and 
wreck and loss?" "Ay," said the 
Spirit, and did so, thus : 



77 



SEPTEMBER 



78 



O'DE. 

SEPTEMBER, warm memory of 
March, 
When, as in that month of winter 's 

gruff or gusty cheer 
In its last lustiness, and for the sec- 
ond time i ' the year. 
The day and night are equal round 

the sphere, 
And from the same, then chill, now 

fiery arch. 
The rondure of th' all-heavenly arch. 
Blew th ' early blasts icy and bluff. 
Hearty, athletic, rampant, rough. 
And now the cloudy famous gales 
That toss the hull and tear the sails 
Of hapless ship again that rocks 
I ' the arms of mighty Equinox, 
And yet in mists like wool 
The sun becalmed burns full. 
And w^hen th' mists rise 
Into the skies. 



SEPTEMBER 



Then doth the gray-green verdure jq 
parch — 
September, I love thee well ! 
Thy double majesty to tell 
The sun descendeth golden hot 
On flowery mead or garden spot. 
And thy great tempests, furious. 
Blazing, glorious, perilous, 
Fall on the billow^y main 
Where rolling vessels strain. 
Seas go up and seas go dow^n. 
And wild September gales. 
That thresh the ships like flails. 
Take no thought o' men that 
drow^n ; 
Yet ho ! for the w^inds o ' the roar- 
ing sea. 
That shake the air to purity 
From one to other pole. 
The w^hile beneath them roll 
The billow^s that be shaken too 
To keep all clean creation 's brew^ ! 
And though the mighty features 
Of tempests mind not creatures, 
*Tis man 's great part — no greater 

other — 
To Providence his coming brother, 



80 



SEPTEMBER 



And learn to weather the fierce 

storms, 
Building ships in sturdier forms : 
By every man that lieth drowned 

below^, 
Another on the w^aves shall safely go. 
Meanwhile, like ripples skimmed 
from a Summer sea 
And painted into flowers, 

September on the land 
Flingeth her sunny hours 
With warm, prodigal hand. 
Transmuting windy scud to bloom 
o ' the lea. 
Many a mead shines mellow 
With harvest-ready yellow. 
And by a brook or nook yet stay 
Blossoms lasting e 'en from May. 
Here is still the Pickerel Weed, 
That tw^o months gone began its 

seed ; 
The woods are flecked w^ith Yellow 

Sorrel, 
Sabbatia, Cress, Herb Robert, Laurel ; 
The Spurry Sandwort by the way 
Rose-purple at our feet doth lay 
In little stars ; Impatiens yet 
O 'erhangs a stream or places wet ; 



S E "P T E M 'B E R 



Vervain, Swamp Mallow, Pale o-i 
Violet, °^ 

The Water-Lily, Honeysuckle, 
Starwort, Lobelia Cardinal, 
The Potentilla 's golden eye. 
Poly gala 's purple nestling by. 
The Raspberry bush, the Black- 
berry vine, 
And Phytolacca 's crimson shine — 
These fill the mead, these light 

the wood 
Where eye hath looked or feet 

have stood 
With love, w^ith love, w^ith love, 

w^ith love, 
Knowing that from above 
For dear creation 's gain 
Descend the flower and hurricane ! 
September, September, September, ho ! 
Come with thy flowers, 
And battling powers — 
Thy merry hours 
Emblossomed, and furions gales that 
blow! 



OCTOBER 



OCTOBER. 85 

HERE is the Fringed Gentian, mar- 
velous beauty, in full glory, 
like blue buckles on golden belts 
arraying alike September and Octo- 
ber. Some other flowers, too, linger 
from earlier season; but look they 
not drowsy ? Like children dismissed 
at late twilight feast-time. Earth's 
precious stragglers of bloom kiss her 
detaining hand ere Nurse's voice 
calls them aw^ay and they tumble 
sleepily into bed. 

Here are many meadows all run 
together, as it w^ere, and their thus 
crow^ded versicolored flowers lifted 
in a tapestry and spread over the tops 
of the forest. Or if that fancy please 
not, take this one, whether bolder 
or less bold I know not, namely, 
that a thousand meadow^s have con- 
densed their blossoms into thick, col- 
ored essences, wherewith Nature 
paints lavishly and with broad strokes 
w^hole w^oodlands. And if w^e journey 



86 



OCTOBER 



at this time through a hilly country, 
like our New England Berkshire, not 
only the front rank of trees, as in a 
wooded level, are visibly glow^ing, 
but vast slopes of tree-crowns, blaz- 
ing and glorious w^ith buffs and golds 
and crimsons and scarlets. To this 
add the royal dominion of the fruits, 
under the still flourishing but milder 
reign of the sun. All Nature is a 
"Field of the Cloth of Gold," where 
mellow^ed lights engild the gold of 
royal banners, hangings, vestures, 
trappings and liveries, and great 
shafts of golden flame light w^ith glow^- 
ing cheer the vast feast of yellow 
fruits and grains. 

Here, methinks, in this rich, glori- 
ous, summer -finishing, heaven-spill- 
ing month, I may record best my 
extreme separation from a memor- 
able and continually quoted line of 
Words w^orth, namely, 

"The light that never was on sea 
or land." 
For many years vaguely I recited 
this line, as others of the many re- 
citers have done belike, by reason 



OCTOBER 



of its curious spell-like charm. I gy 
have yielded me to its leading and 
misleading like as to a soft lambent 
marsh-light, called " Will - wi * -a- 
wisp;" but always with a dim un- 
easiness or foggy protest, w^hich at 
last cleared to a denial. The line 
occurs in the poem called *' Elegiac 
Stanzas, Suggested by a Picture of 
Peele Castle, in a Storm, Painted by 
Sir George Beaumont." The poet 
says he had seen and intimately ob- 
served the Castle during many lovely 
summer days, and adds, 

"Ah, then if mine had been the 

painter 's hand. 
To express what then I saw^, and 

add the gleam. 
The light that never was on sea or 

land. 
The consecration and the poet's 

dream, 

**I w^ould have planted thee, thou 

hoary pile, 
Amid a w^orld how^ different from 

this ! 



88 



OCTOBER 



Beside a sea that could not cease 

to smile, 
On tranquil land, beneath a sky of 

bliss." 

Here plainly the bard's emotion, "the 
consecration and the poet's dream," 
might add a manner of glory to the 
scene not there before, "the gleam, 
the light that never was on sea or 
land." *Tis this which I have grow^n 
to dispute heartily, and even passion- 
ately, as being not true, and even 
hurtful. The glory of any splendid 
scenery throbs with all of me, and 
more ! And though I add me to it, 
'tis only a plunging into it, and it 
flows over my head ! Better than 
Wordsworth's line is Richard Jeffer- 
ies' saying, "The sunlight that falls 
on the heart like a song ; " and better 
still if he had said. It is a song. And 
he has said so in effect, as in this 
paragraph : " Alone in the green- 
roofed cave, alone w^ith the sun- 
light and the pure w^ater, there was a 
sense of something more than these. 
The water was more to me than 



C T O B E R 



water, and the sun than sun. The 
gleaming rays on the water in my 
palm held me for a moment, the 
touch of the w^ater gave me some- 
thing from itself. A moment and the 
gleam w^as gone, the w^ater flow^ing 
aw^ay, but I had had them. Beside 
the physical w^ater and physical light I 
had received from them their beauty ; 
they had communicated to me this 
silent mystery." And in these lines : 
"Steeped in flower and pollen to the 
music of bees and birds, the stream 
of the atmosphere became a living 
thing. It was life to breathe it, for 
the air itself w^as life." And in the 
f oUow^ing paragraph from this passion- 
ate lover of Nature, in his "The 
Pageant of Summer:" '* A sw^eet 
breath on the air, a soft w^arm hand 
in the touch of the sunshine, a glance 
in the gleam of the rippled w^aters, 
a w^hisper in the dance of the 
shadows ! ***** There was a 
presence everyw^here w^ith us, 
though unseen, — w^ith us on the open 
hill, and not shut out under the dark 
pines. ***** That we could but 



89 



90 



O C T O B E <R 



take to the soul some of the great- 
ness and beauty of the summer ! " 

The Uke is said, that is, the identity 
of Nature's Hfe and meaning >vith our 
own being, in the following splendid 
outburst beginning Nietzsche's **So 
Spake Zarathustra : " 

'* Having attained the age of thirty, 
Zarathustra left his home and the lake 
of his home and went into the moun- 
tains. There he rejoiced in his spirit 
and his loneness, and for ten years 
did not grow weary of it. But at last 
his heart turned, — and one morning 
he got up w^ith the dawn, stepped in- 
to the presence of the Sun and thus 
spake to him : ' Thou great star ! 
Where would be thy happiness if thou 
hadst not those for whom thou 
shinest ? For ten years thou hast 
come up here to my cave. Thou 
wouldst have gotten sick of thy light 
and thy journey but for me, mine 
eagle and my serpent. But w^e w^aited 
for thee every morning, received 
from thee thine abundance, and 
blessed thee for it. Lo ! I am weary 
of my wisdom, like the bee that hath 



OCTOBER 



collected too much honey ; I need 
hands reaching out for it. I would 
fain impart and distribute until the 
wise among men could once more 
enjoy their folly, and the poor once 
more their riches. For that end I 
must descend to the depth, as thou 
dost at evening, w^hen thou sinkest 
behind the sea and givest light to the 
lower regions, thou resplendent star ! 
I must, like thee, go down, as men 
call it, to whom I will descend. So 
bless thou me, thou peaceful eye, 
that canst look w^ithout envy even 
upon over-much happiness. Bless 
the cup w^hich is about to overflow, 
so that the w^ater may flow^ golden 
out of it and carry everywhere the 
reflection of thy rapture. Lo ! this 
cup is about to empty itself again, 
and Zarathustra once more will be- 
come a man.' Thus Zarathustra's 
going dow^n began." 

Now thinking thus of Words- 
worth 's line, and even more feeling 
thus, as I have said, I spoke my sep- 
aration nine times from day to day, 
thus : 



91 



92 



O C T O B E "R. 



I. 

** The light that never was on sea 

or land" — 
Nay, nay, dear poet, ' twere better 

said for me, 
The light that al>vays was on land 

or sea, 
And alw^ays hath the lustrous heavens 

spanned. 
For look w^e w^here w^e w^ill, on 

either hand, 
Or up or dow^n, o 'er plains, w^here 

mountains be. 
In sheltered vales, or where wild 

w^inds are free. 
Where diamonds gleam, or on the 

common sand, — 
All light is one, and is the very 

light 
Beams in an eye or singeth in a 

voice 
When voice and eye are kindled 

with the heart ; 
Yea, and what light both shone and 

rang so bright 
When th ' morning stars sang out, 

and did rejoice 
Creation's sons, — which light, O 

God, thou art ! 



OCTOBER 



"• 93 

"The light that never was on sea 

or land ! " 
Thought the most gentle bard there 

be two lights, 
Or many, — one of earth, that flatters 

the heights 
And valleys, and tw^inkles from Arc- 

turus ' band ? 
And other one where thoughts or 

loves have fanned 
The soul to flame that maketh dark- 
est nights 
Relucent, giveth th ' inward spirit 

sights 
Of Eden, and show^eth where angel 

armies stand ? 
O, no ! All light 's the same and 

all lights one! 
In man's, sweet woman's, child's, 

sw^eet infant's eye, 
In heavenly vault of stars or moon 

or sun, 
In plains, great mountains, calms, 

great tempests high. 
Where rivers deep to seas un- 

fathomed run, 
Light is all one — 'tis God whom 

we descry ! 



OCTOBER 



94 III. 

**The light that never was on sea 

or land ! " 
Poet, dear poet, thanks that thou 

mak'st me see 
In contrary one light on every 

hand : 
God ! make it one to me as 'tis from 

thee! 
Soothly I ken that he who made 

the eye 
Doth feed it with divine refulgency ; 
Eke he that made the ear makes it 

espy 
In its ow^n w^ay that same divinity ; 
And he w^ho makes the heart, and 

throbs of heart, 
Doth noursle it with that same voice 

and gleam ; 
And he who gave us thoughts, gives 

for their part 
Th * enlightenment where planets 

sing and beam. 
All lights are one in thee, who 

being mine. 
Eke one I know them because I 

am thine. 



OCTOBER 



IV. 

"The light that never was on sea 

or land!" 
Nay, vouch me why the little flowers 

like bells 
In campaniles tall their mouths ex- 
pand, 
But that of sight atoned with voice 

it tells ! 
Sound is a light and light a very 

sound. 
What matter if He speak to ear or 

eye. 
The w^ords are one ; yea, sw^eet 

thoughts are compound 
O' the light that drips the bowls of 

earth and sky. 
Let day come as it will, noisy or 

stilled. 
And night come as it may, cloudy 

or bright, — 
What 's dim or clear or clamor or 

hush is filled 
In sea and land and soul w^ith one 

self light. 
There never were two fires, one 

soul's, one earth's ; 
Sea-beams, land-beams, be Heaven's 

sweet brim of mirths. 



95 



96 



OCTOBER 



O, soul o' me, how were it any- 

w^here, 
** The light that never was on sea or 

land?" 
Lo, earth is bright and wonderfully 

fair, 
With floral beauty plumed on every 

hand. 
And flies in space like Bird of Para- 
dise 
On pinions brighter than the rainy 

bow. 
Is there a lofty light of lordly rise 
Above sea shores, that w^ill not stoop 

so low? 
Nay, this I know, that all the light 

of earth 
Sprinkled on hill-tops and on seas 

abroad. 
Is one with glories that in soul have 

birth, 
And light 'tis of the countenance of 

God. 
God ! earthly light unheaven'd is 

naught to me. 
Nor thought or love unearthlike 

aught to thee ! 



OCTOBER 



* 



VI. 

They that go down unto the sea 

in ships, 
And in great waters to their business 

keep, 
These do behold the works o' the 

Lord — their lips 
Cannot refrain his wonders in the 

deep. 
For he commands and raiseth the 

stormy w^ind, 
Which lifteth up the mighty w^aves 

amain ; 
They mount unto the heavens, till he 

rescind ; 
Then go they dow^n into the depths 

again. 
Souls melt w^ith fear. The storm 

then calmeth he, 
So that the mighty waves thereof 

are still; 
Then are they glad because they 

quiet be, — 
He brings them to a haven where 

they will. 
What " light there never w^as on 

sea or land " 
Sure is small felloiv of this fair 

and grand ! 

*Ps. cvii. 23-30. 



97 



OCTOBER 



98 VII. 

I've seen the heavens in April all 

a-fire, 
Rainy with iris, with opals stringing 

th' air, 
The skies pied like the sampler of a 

dyer, 
Birds sipping sunshine, — wi ' the sun 

their ditties fare. 
Eftsoon the waters of the upper sea 
Soundly w^ash down, a-breaking to 

lovely spray ; 
Anon the sun looseth his jollity, 
O'er-smiling the show^ers ; and so 

'tis every day. 
If so the vernal heavens be song-full 

light. 
Behold how^ 'tis i' the dear diurnal 

earth; 
There new-loosed brooks along pour 

song-beam bright, — 
Light's tune, tune's light, calls th' 

other with sweet mirth. 
If with such voice-full light the 

earth be fraught, 
Sure "light that 's ne'er on sea or 

land" is naught ! 



O C T O "B E R 



VIII. 

Full often have I seen a glorious 

robe 
Apparel the earth with perfect end- 
less white, 
Making each bush a velvet stud or 

lobe, 
Wi' the same stuff covered as the 

raiment bright. 
Methought th' immaculate splendor 

w^ere enough ; 
But w^hen the hours opened the ward 

o' the w^est. 
There hung th* horizon of soft green 

and buff, 
A spangled girdle for the snow^y vest. 
O, heart o' me, how^ hath the dear 

bard spoken 
O' *'the light that never was on sea 

or land .?" 
Here 's the w^hite-shining seamless 

robe unbroken. 
Which God hath hasped with yon 

gold emerald band. 
If there be light more precious 

than here seen, 
'Tis better light than Love is, as 1 

ween. 



99 



100 



OCTOBER 



IX. 

I think that light is God, and God 

is light, 
And love is light, and every light is 

love. 
Light was the first God -word, 

athwart the night 
When th' Spirit moved, moved the 

void deep above. 
And w^ith that w^ord methinks him- 
self w^as done 
Into all light, and evermore 'tis He, 
Qne Lord and Life and Light, etern- 
al One, 
As ever 'tw^as, is now^, and aye shall 

be. 
Wherefore, dear poet, I can not say 

w^ith thee 
"The light that never was on sea or 

land;" 
For all the many lights are one and 

He, 
Whether they shine in love or sea 

or sand, 
I pray for light within to know 't 

without, 
That 'tis all one, and w^raps the 

w^orld about. 



OCTOBER 



Having spoken so, 'tis just and 
grateful to witness that Wordsworth, 
like all the great bards, has said the 
like in many an illustrious break of 
beauty familiar to his lovers ; but if 
one view is true, the other can not 
be. Why this halt of harmony? 
Should not the tones of a poet, like 
those of a bell, ring true at every 
chime ? 

Have I w^andered far from October ? 
Nay, only w^andered some circles in 
its light. 'Tis a short traverse home 
to it, to its glorious finishing of all 
the w^arm transaction from bud to 
leaf and blossom since March, of 
April's opening to beauty and fragrance 
and the wing-flight of bloom, of the 
Summer's forming fruit and its mel- 
lowing for ready hands, — all ending 
in October's assembly of the royal 
dynasties of the leaves arrayed in 
pomp of scarlet and gold, and then 
the new bud, happed up and arm- 
ored against the winter, under the 
shadow^ed and disappearing arc. Rapt 
with this splendor of October, I be- 
sought the Spirit of Song to vouch - 



101 



102 



O C T O S E R 



safe me to catch some music from the 
days ; and the Spirit gave me to hear 
and repeat this : 



O C T O B E -R 

103 
SONG. 

LATE did the precious Gentian 
open her lid, to look 
Up through her eyes' soft fringes 
high 
Into the blue, 
That she might view 
The azure rondure of the sky, 
Whence Nature th' sapphire pig- 
ment for her beauty took. 

Then had the summer's other 
blossoming beings run 
The way of flow^ery things, and 
fled 
Into the air. 
When forth this fair, 
This marveled fringed cerulean, 
sped, 
To wake in us again the glory that 
w^as done. 

Yet still some earlies linger, breath- 
ing summer and spring. 



104 



C T O B E R 



To show with w^hat reluctance 
sw^eet 
£arth spares the flowers ; 
Here still the bow^ers 
Of Honeysuckle, Cardinal, Laurel ; 
hearts greet 
Herb Robert, and still to the ruddy 
soil Pale Violets cling. 

Meanwhile the fields are golden- 
shock'd, and a meadow^y yellow^ 
Through all the fruitful earth doth 
shoot. 
And atmosphere, 
As if the clear 
Gold air itself were a round fruit; 
And rich therew^ith is poured the 
purple vintage mellow^. 

Aladdin's deeds were naught to yon- 
der flaming tree. 
Whose leaves turn jew^els ruby and 
gold, 
Rainbows of dyes ; 
And when our eyes 
Great hill-sides blazing so behold. 
Could vaster hanging tapestries of 
colors be ? 



OCTOBER 



October beautiful, radiant, more than 
maiden-fair, 
Lovely height o' the year's mid-age, 
Both rich and sweet. 
Thy matron feet 
Walk with a beauty large and sage; 
But youthful round thy head blows 
summer's amber air. 



105 



NOVEMBER 



NOVEMBER. 109 

IS not the circling pathway of the 
months as notably and variously 
beautiful in song-tracery as in the rich 
and changing ranks of floral pro- 
cessions? Surely the sound-harmonies 
of each quatrain of weeks may be as 
ranging and distinct as its nature 
by heat and cold, by sky and air in- 
vestitures. A medley of the bird- 
notes prominent in each month would 
alone carry us through a charmed 
circle. And when to these is added 
the swell and beat of the thousand- 
voiced choir of Nature, the insect 
tones, concerting of w^inds and trees 
with the liquid w^ater-melodies, then 
indeed opens a great round of sea- 
sonal life, our entrance w^hereinto 
is conditioned only on that quick- 
witted hand-maid of the soul, the 
listening sense. 

Given the ear only, and then a place 
at a theatre of discoursing Nature, 
w^ho could mistake the shrillings of 



110 



KOVEMBER 



February for September mellowings, 
or July amplitudes for April anima- 
tions? The range is indeed as vast 
and various as if in each month a 
new earth were created and new seas 
of life were poured into a new sky 
of sound. There are songs enough, 
indeed ! And if you think nature- 
sounds be not veritable music, I 
must remind you of a pretty legend 
forthwith, that of the grudging and 
gloomy Sub-prior who awoke to 
find all the w^ondrous, rich, rare, 
beauty -bloom of his fair Minster 
bursting to a fragrance of rapturous 
concerted song. The Sub-prior had 
come on a cold night and had pros- 
trated himself on the cold stones of 
the floor, in a mood of surly gloom 
which he mistook for piety. While 
bew^ailing the sin of a fallen and 
ruined earth, as he deemed it, he fell 
asleep, and then was awakened by 
light flooding the chapel and there- 
with w^onderful song. When he 
looked he saw^ all the things in the 
chapel singing. The little carved 
cherubs of the choir and the stately 



NOVEMBER 



windo>v saints were caroling together. 
The carved faces on the oaken pews 
joyfully caught up the strains, even 
the splendid vestment-jewels flashed 
their color and light into song, and 
every corner of the radiant old Abbey 
shared in the great Antiphon. So 
outpoured the glad harmonious praise! 
And thereupon the astonished Sub- 
prior bethought him of the eyes that 
see not and the ears that hear not. 
If so be that this legend is really a 
truth, and all things in nature are 
singing, why then, when man is not 
listening thereto or singing, he alone 
of all earth's beings joins not in the 
harmony. But he does join therein 
sometimes, and forthwith from beings 
formed to see, to hear, to know^, to 
think, to feel, arise vast harmonies 
soul -stirred and wrung forth. Earth 
with all its creatures hath its Advent 
Song, its Resurrection Hymn, its Psalm 
of Thanksgiving, its Carol of Hope, its 
glorious Te Deum, and its cheerful 
Nunc Dimittis. So falls it that No- 
vember, as she closes the doors of a 
full granary, must needs '* break forth 



111 



112 



J^OVEM'BER 



into singing, " lifting heart and voice 
in a fervor of praise. 

A stirring in me of the joy of the 
Thanksgiving Festival forced way at 
my mouth one day, thus : 

When I bethink me what skies are, 
and lands, 

And all the creatures both are rife 
withal, 

And my dear occupancy by com- 
mands 

Of the one Lord who daily makes it 
all. 

Then do I know what a tremendous 
gift 

To me my life is, and it doth be- 
hoove me 

To raise me to that contemplation, 
lift 

My heart, and let the heavens move 
me ; 

And I perceive how^ measureless the 
debt 

That 's laid on me, that if with all 
my pow^ers 

I make return, O, still it is not 
met — 



K O V E M B E R 



I cannot pay for life with ail life's 

hours. 
Lord, help me ! I would not be too 

much debtor, 
But somewhat pay by loving all 

things better ! 

I remember not surely how^ it hap- 
pened that this sufficed me not; yet 
I have some dim recollection that 
the last line of it took possession of 
me, namely, the thought of the loving 
of everything as a way of paying for 
everything, and the only w^ay ; out of 
w^hich after some days came the fol- 
lowing : 

Our Lord, how helpless am I to 

repay 
The marvels of thy gifts! Can I by 

thinking 
Reckon for the pow^er of thought ? 

Or by my w^inking 
Refund the eyes' marvel ? By such 

a w^ay 
The charges of thy mighty gifts 

defray — 
O' the sea by merry swimming, rising, 

sinking. 



113 



114 



NOVEMBER 



O' the sweet rainy streams by of 

them drinking, 
Of green tree-skies if under them I 

stay ? 
Payeth the hirer hire who doth no 

more 
Than shrewdly use a beautiful ma- 
chine ? 
How^ then retribute I with reason 

better ? 
Lord of these goodly hosts round me 

and o'er, 
Grant me th' one wherewithal — 

sw^eet love, I w^een. 
To pay sweet love, so be not all a 

debtor ! 

The November out-pouring of praise 
seemeth not unlike a great Recession- 
al in the year's choral service. Rich 
and full as if plenty-blest it rises, then 
slow^ly softens to gentle memories 
and forward hopes, until at length 
from behind closed doors, rising from 
blazing hearths, comes a clear 
** Amen ! " 

It being due from me on a certain 
time to hand forth a song of Novem- 



NOVEMBER 



ber and Thanksgiving, one day I iig 
cried out in my need, thus : 

Spirit of Thankfulness, prythee come 

unto me ! 
Spirit of Song, prythee see what is 
done to me 
Here in this noise in the world ! 
O, there be joys in the world. 
Mid the jargon and noise 
There be quiets and joys 
That will stay with me long 
And will grow in me strong! 
Bring them, dear Spirit of Song! 

So entreated came the kind Spirit of 
Song to me very quickly, nay, delay- 
ing not a moment, and caught me by 
the hair and held me even by hair and 
beard, and whispered eagerly, "Write 
what I chant to thee"; w^hich I did, 
and so received the following: 



116 



N O V E M B E R 



SONG. 

THE bright procession of the blos- 
soms hath passed by; 
The gold and purple rear 
Doth vanishing appear — 
Sparse stragglers from th' October 

flanks 
Of Summer's army, where in 
ranks ♦ 

They sang to the winds as never car- 
nivals nor symphonies outvie. 

Now fields are yellow^-hillocked w^ith 

golden fruits : 
The mighty succulent gourd, 
With rich, ripe round matured, 
Shineth tw^ixt many a saffron 

shock 
Where husks are soon stripped 

to unfrock 
The ear whose ruddy-orange color 

w^i' glow o' the lordly pompion 

suits. 



NOVEMBER 



Then comes mid-month the lovely 

Indian Summer new, 
Whose melting golden haze 
Copies the fruity blaze 
O' the field, and the bland airs 

and sky 
Retune the heart wi' old singer's 

cry : 
"Hath the rain a father, or who hath 

begotten the drops of dew?" 

O th' bounty and the beauty, 

The grain and vine ! 
The harvest is ingathered. 

Corn, oil and w^ine ; 
And it hath all been fathered 

With love divine! 
The ice-wind will be weathered. 

Where hearth-fires shine 
Upon the bounty and beauty. 

The grain and vine ! 

'Tis a short and speedy way from 
field to house and home ; 
Crops seem to skip to table 
As in a fairy fable. 
And in the winking of an eye 
The flushing pompion in a pie 



117 



118 



K O V E M S E R 



Sets many a heart a-flame, and to the 
homestead bringeth feet that 



Eke fruits and frosts together usher 
us indoors, 
And fiery hearths foretell 
Still ruddier wintry spell — 
Both a sounding and a shining 

note 
I' the chimney's hospitable throat, 
That crimsons all the mirthful com- 
pany wi* its bonny blazing roars- 

Thus back November looks to com- 
fortable sun, 
And forward w^ith desires 
To frost-becharming fires; 
And passeth cider cups about 
In loving harvest-merry rout: 
And aye this thrice-bedow^ered season 
singe th thus when it is done : 

O th' bounty and the beauty, 

The grain and vine ! 
The harvest is ingathered, 

Corn, oil and wine ; 



NOVEMBER 



And it hath all been fathered \\Q 

With love divine ! 
The ice -wind will be w^eathered, 

Where hearth-fires shine 
Upon the bounty and beauty, 

The grain and vine ! 



DECEMBER 



DECEMBER. 123 

*• There is a river in the ocean" — 
so begins a book which has much to 
say of the Gulf Stream, a river whose 
banks are w^alls of salt w^ater. There 
is a climate prevailing in all other cli- 
mates, like a river running in the 
midst of them — so might one begin a 
page or a book treating of December ; 
for the Christmastide is a climate 
everywhere. No matter how various- 
ly December hath one nature in the 
north and another in the south, or may 
change with east and w^est, Christmas 
is the same and brings its ow^n tem- 
perature and quality; w^hereby, though 
every other month has altogether a 
different climate in different places, 
December hath a unity everywhere, 
which overrides without account all 
bars of parallels or meridians. 

The cause of this one climate in all 
climates is Jesus of Nazareth. Here 
is a great potency, wonder and glory, 
that he irrigates all climates with one 



124 



"DECEMBER 



climate. And vv^hat means had he ? 
None visible. He was very poor ; he 
came from obscure peasant stock; the 
dates of his birth and death, year, 
month, day, are unknown; he was vis- 
ible publicly but one or two years, or 
possibly barely three, out of his thirty 
three ; he w^as disow^ned by his own 
family and towns-folk; he was scorned 
by the proud, hated by the rich, hunt- 
ed by the pow^erful; he was a w^anderer, 
w^ithout station or any seat of influ- 
ence ; he was decried as a pretender 
and denounced as unreligious or ir- 
religious ; perhaps he was almost as 
little understood by friends as by 
enemies ; and he was put to death sud- 
denly and riotously on a cruel gal- 
lows reserved for slaves and felons. 
*' What pleasure did he taste?" cries 
out Isaac Barrow^. "What inclination, 
w^hat appetite, w^hat sense did he grati- 
fy? How did he feast or revel? How 
but in tedious fastings, in frequent 
hungers, by passing Avhole nights in 
prayer and retirement for devotion 
upon the cold mountains ? What 
sports had he, what recreation did he 



DECEMBER 



take, but feeling incessant gripes of 195 
compassion, and wearisome rovings in 
quest of the lost sheep ? In what con- 
versation could he divert himself, but 
among those >vhose doltish incapacity 
and froward humor did wring from 
his patience these words, * How^ long 
shall I be with you, how^ long shall I 
suffer you ? ' What music did he 
hear ? What but the rattlings of clam- 
orous obloquy, and furious accusa- 
tions against him ? To be desperately 
maligned, to be insolently mocked, to 
be styled a king and treated as a slave, 
to be spit on, to be buffeted, to be 
scourged, to be drenched w^ith gall, 
to be crowned w^ith thorns, to be nailed 
to a cross, — these were the delights 
w^hich our Lord enjoyed, these the 
sw^eet comforts of his life and the not- 
able prosperities of his fortune !" Yet 
the spiritual heavens in him have 
spread their one climate "like a tent 
to dwell in" over all w^eathers of the 
earth, and that one clip;iate is hope, 
faith, cheer and joy ! 

The climate which is Christmastide, 
moreover, waiteth not for its month 



126 



DECEMBER 



or season to prevail, but may be spread 
over all the year. Nay, there is no 
health for us unless all the year be 
Christmased, that is, over-climated 
with his spirit who hath made the 
climate called Christmas. But also the 
special observance of the season by 
loving gifts between all manner of 
lovers, and also unto the poor, whom 
sorrow^fuUy yet w^e " have always 
with us, " this may spread the climate 
all over the year; for one does w^ell 
who takes a full year to provide his 
Christmas gifts, and is on watch for 
them, and happily stores them up. I 
was witness of the method of St. Ma- 
tilda, she w^ho w^as canonized by the 
great preacher Theodore. She placed 
in the attic of her home a row of box- 
es, all nicely disposed, w^ith the cover 
of each box laid by it very orderly, 
and right generous they looked, and 
every box was labeled w^ith the name 
of some friend. Then whenever 
throughout the year she obtained any 
good thing w^hich might be a good 
gift, she placed it in the box dedica- 
ted to whatsoever friend she thought 



DECEMBER 



the good thing fitted. At Christmas- i /yj 
tide the boxes were full, or soon com- 
pleted, and so forwarded. 

Gifts in token of love have a rich 
and ancient warrant, even Sacred 
Scripture, **My little children, let us not 
love in w^ord, neither w^ith the tongue; 
but in deed and in truth. ' ' We shall not 
interpret the w^ord " deed " w^ithout in- 
cluding gifts, if we remember that 
benefactions in love are meritorious in 
proportion to their cost to us, which 
is to say, what w^e sacrifice for them, 
denying or even pinching ourselves to 
do them ; and assuredly if we bestow 
what in truth costs us nothing, w^e are 
not liberal of our own, but of God's. 
**How^ can that gift leave a trace which 
hath left no void?" saith a French- 
woman ; and another, an English wom- 
an, hath it, *' One must be poor to 
know the luxury of giving," — w^hich 
if true ( and w^hat heart echoes not to 
it?) means that no gift rises to a great- 
ness, and no bestow^al hath any love- 
glory, unless it takes a virtue out of 
us and makes us in a way poor for 
the time. Therefore gifts, besides 



"DECEMBER 



words, always have been notable love- 
128 vehicles, and thus are natural to 
Christmastide. Yet a gift, and even a 
costly gift, means not always a pur- 
chaseable object. There be very 
chargeable and expensive gifts w^hich 
are efforts, devotions of time and 
strength, plans, letters, thoughts, 
verses. A letter well-written, full of 
excellent thoughts or of love-elo- 
quences, things not to be plucked from 
bushes or picked up in streets, may 
be a very costly gift, with one's very 
self spun into it. Let it be said too, 
and very heartily, that current small 
gifts exceed occasional large ones; ten 
things at a dime are more than one at 
a dollar, three thirds are more than a 
whole in these measures. April rains 
(I mean reiterated ) of small attentions, 
little pleasures, inventions, ingenui- 
ties, are very fertilizing to love, and 
they cost much in thought. And this 
other principle above all lives in fine 
giving, namely, that the amercement 
w^hich love requires of itself, disowns 
all limit. If I have given joyful 
moments all day long, and at evening 



DECES^BER 



I can bestow one little last delight of 
more, I must, or I fail. "O, the little 
more, and how much it is, and the little 
less, and what worlds away!" "High 
heaven disdains the lore of nicely cal- 
culated less or more ! " There is a 
very fine oriental saying, "If a man 
will build a mountain and he put one 
basket-full of earth on the plain, he is 
building a mountain ; but if he put 
not the last basket-full on the top, 
he has not builded the mountain." 
'Tis so in love. 

Verse, as I have said, if to compose 
it be vouchsafed to one, is an ex- 
cellent Christmas gift, and will be very 
acceptable to the recipient if he con- 
sider how much his friend's being 
goes into it. 'Tis a kindred fact that 
always Christmastide hath been a rich 
summoner of songs of itself, as much 
as April, or May, or June, or roses. 
Carols naturally cluster around Christ- 
mas in the courts of all languages, 
like holy revelers in the audiences of 
a Saint King. Of our store of Eng- 
lish Christmas Carols what can be said 
that is great enough and rich enough 



129 



130 



DECEMBER 



and warm enough! How they lead us 
to the time and the place, and hang 
over it to show w^hat is there, like 
multiplications of the star in the east. 
This is the overbrooding and reveal- 
ing office of song. Suddenly one day 
I perceived, as it seemed to me w^ith 
a special light, that verily no great 
know^ledge is possible w^ithout the 
ministry of song, and I exclaimed 
w^ith the thought thus: 

Glorious Song, dear Poesy, me- 

thinks 
I see thee stand on verge of fairest 

star, 
And thence thy spirit the mighty 

prospect drinks, 
And round thee flasks of all the col- 
ors are. 
Now^, w^hen thou spyest a deed on 

any earth, 
Thou dashest it w^i' the colors of its 

kind ; 
Be it or good or bad, or grief or 

mirth, 
Its hue 's unknow^n till tinctured to 

thy mind: 



DECEMBER 



Be it of life or death or love or 

hate, 131 

Imagination, reason, might, night, 

light, 
Honor or shame, or rich or poor 

estate, 
Till of thee dyed, 'tis naught but 

ashy sight. 
O Song, Saint Spirit, from thy 

verge above. 
Truth-dye all things for me, but 

most my love! 

**The rest may reason and welcome, 
*tis we musicians know," saith Abt 
Vogler ; but poesy is of a piece with 
music, and there is no reality of 
knowledge, nor doth anything unveil 
its depth, till Song hath explored it. 

There be alien times that *'know 
not Joseph, " w^hen noble poesy is 
neglected, and men w^ill not pay 
'* victuals and drink " for it. To be a 
soothsayer w^here there are no sim- 
ple hearts and no one cares for the 
** sooth" hath its difficulties; and it 
might seem that God could do nothing 
so merciless as to create a poet in 



132 



DECE9^BER 



an un-poesy-loving time. But no, 'tis 
not so, and of this we may be assured; 
for song is so great rapture in itself, 
and so great illumination of every- 
thing, and so vast independence, un- 
moved even with the neglect of it, 
that to be made a poet is a great 
mercy ! 

So, steeped in Christmastide, w^hat 
could I have of it without song? 
Blessed be the old carols, by w^hich, 
singing them merrily with rapturous 
children, and rightw^isely looking afar 
back over the many years, even if 
"often glad no more, we wear a face 
of joy because w^e have been glad of 
yore! " But might not a new carol 
break, as every day hath its morning ? 
And might not the song of my ow^n 
soul show me somewhat the songs 
of others had not? *'Ah, draw me 
out of myself into thee !" I cried to 
the dear Christmastide; "Spirit of 
Song, I pray thee, give me a carol !" 
Then the Spirit ( I alw^ays have found 
the Spirit ready with more than was 
thought or prayed ) gave me many 
carols, as here they follow^ : 



DECEMBER 

133 
CAROLS, 

I. 

O, Christ was born a little babe, 
• A little babe was he, 

In manger laid w^as he, 
Who was to live for all the world 
And die for you and me: 
Then wreathe the holly. 
Twine the bay. 
Girls and boys and gentles all. 
Sing holy-happy Christmas lay. 
And "No well" sing and "well- 

a-day," 
That angel song again may fall. 
As round the manger and the stall. 
To bless this merry Christmas. 

O, Christ became a littl6 lad, 

A little lad was he. 

And in the temple he. 
Who w^as to preach to all the world. 

And speaks to you and me: 



134 



DECE9^BER 



Then wreathe the holly, 
Twine the bay, 
Girls and boys and gentles all, 
Sing holy-happy Christmas lay, 
And "No well" sing and "well- 
a-day," 
That angel song again may fall, 
As round the manger and the stall, 
To bless this merry Christmas. 

Now Christ be born in every heart, 
In every heart to be. 
That each a temple be. 
And he w^ho saves the w^ide- w^ide w^orld 
May save both you and me: 
Then wreathe the holly, 
Tw^ine the bay. 
Girls and boys and gentles all. 
Sing holy -happy Christmas lay, 
And "No well" sing and "well- 

a-day," 
That angel song again may fall, 
As round the manger and the stall. 
To bless this merry Christmas. 



D E C E 9^ B E R 



II. 



A little child peeped through the sky, 

Long ago, long ago, 
And said, I will come down from high. 

Long ago : 
It was the child, the dear Christ child. 
Who nestled to the earth and to his 
mother mild. 



He said to angels. Come and sing 
To men below^, men below. 

Because glad tidings I shall bring 
To men below : 

It was the child of God who spake. 

And with the tidings still the listening 
world doth quake. 



He said unto the traveling star. 
Show the w^ay, show^ the w^ay. 

For I to all both near and far 
Will show^ the w^ay : 

And still by that same holy light 

The traveling nations struggle onward 
day and night. 



135 



136 



DECEMBER 



He saith to us, With ivy trim, 

With holly and bay, holly and bay, 
Make green the house. We will for 
him. 
With holly and bay : 
And here in manger still thou art, 
O dear and sweet Christ child, which 
manger is our heart. 



III. 

Now carols bring and carols sing, 

And all the holy story tell 

How^ Jesus loved the w^orld so w^ell 

And loved so well the world ! 
Sad that men w^ill each other kill, 
And spears be hurled and sw^ords be 

w^hirled. 
Since Jesus loved the world so well 

And loved so w^ell the w^orld. 
Now let all gentle hearts be gay. 
Kindle the hearth, the house array. 
Bring ivy and holly, bring holly and 

bay. 
With praise on high and peace on 

earth this Christmas day ! 



'DECEM'BER 



IV. 137 

'Tis day of day, 'tis sky of sky, 
'Tis light of light and very heaven of 
heaven, 
When Christmastide awakes the eye 
With beams from far beyond the 
shining seven : 
And eke 'tis song of song 
Then doth to ear belong. 
And lifts the soul above 
With chant of praise and love! 
O, fetch the holly, wreathe the bay. 
And twine around the ivy gay, 
To light with evergreens the day, 
And deck our holy Christmas. 

The wondrous child, the sacred 
mother, 
Fill with a golden light the stable low. 

And e'en the kine on one another 
Look with astonished eyes to see the 
glow. 
The shadowy rafters ring 
With song the seraphs sing. 
And voice of beast and man 
Make answer all they can. 



DECEMBER 



O, fetch the holly, wreathe the bay, 
138 And twine around the ivy gay, 

With sunny verdure bower the day. 
And deck our holy Christmas. 



What though a star, as now none 
are, 
Traversed the heavens with new 
created beam 
To guide the wise men from afar, 
Doth this too much for that dear advent 
seem? 
The soul hath said, Not so; 
The heart it crieth, No,— 
Though all the skies should w^ake 
With new stars for his sake! 
O, fetch the holly, wreathe the bay. 
And twine around the ivy gay. 
With golden green festoon the day, 
And deck our holy Christmas. 

But not far off, nay, now in heart 
Let the sweet stories have their being 
mild, 
Nor from our souls may e'er dispart 
The light, the star, wise men and 
heavenly child. 



DECEMBER 



The shepherds on the plains 
Hearkening th' angelic strains. 
The kine, the manger lowly, 
The wondering* mother holy. 
O, fetch the holly, w^reathe the bay, 
And twine around the ivy gay, 
To hang them round the neck o' the 

day. 
And deck our holy Christmas. 



Nor this alone, but round the world 
This day wherever Ghristmastide is 
preached 
Aw^ay may strifes and hates be 
hurled, 
By each for all may be sweet love 
beseeched; 
And th' angels' song again 
Ravish the hearts of men, 
And from the heavens fall — 
"Praise God, and peace to all!" 
O, fetch the holly, wreathe the bay, 
And twine around the ivy gay, 
To bring inside the outside day, 
And deck our holy Christmas. 



139 



140 



DECEMBER 



V. 



Behold how fall at Christmastide 

Divers things together : 
The heart is warm to love and pray, 
Though 'tis wintry weather. 
Lo, the earth 's a-cold, 
Winds be rough and bold, 
When this story 's told— 
Hearts nor chill nor old ! 
O, up with the ivy, the ivy and hoUy, 

the holly and bay, 
And lovingly, joyously, merrily 
sing, 'tis Christmas day! 

Behold the persons of the poor 

Round the little stranger. 
The while the rich bring spice and 
myrrh 
To the lowly manger. 
Poor and rich are one. 
Strife is hushed and done, 
Peace on earth begun, 
Naught to hate or shun! 
O, up with the ivy, the ivy and holly, 

the holly and bay, 
And joyfully, mirthfully, gratefully 
sing,- 'tis Christmas day! 



DECEMBER 



And lo, the wise together come ... 

1 4-1 
With the rough and wild, ^^^ 

The magi w^ith the silly sw^ains 

Kneel before the child. 

'Tis not wit or art, 

Nor the dull or smart, 

But the child-like heart 

Finds the heavenly part ! 

O, up w^ith the ivy, the ivy and holly, 

the holly and bay, 

And heartfuUy, faithfully, praisefuUy 

sing, 'tis Christmas day! 

Now happy light and happy dark 

Mingle over them ; 
At night 's the birth, but shines the 
bright 
Star of Bethlehem. 
Ever hold thy station 
In us, bright creation. 
Star of Revelation, 
Star of sweet Salvation ! 
O, up with the ivy, the ivy and holly, 

the holly and bay, 
And happily, blissfully, fervently 
sing, 'tis Christmas day. 



142 



DECEMBER 



And see, together come the earth 

And the heavens lighted, 
The angels and their heavenly beams 
Flood the plains benighted. 
Joy, that high and low 
Seek the Christ-child so ! 
Earth and heaven go, 
All the loving know ! 
O, up with the ivy, the ivy and holly, 

the holly and bay. 
Forever and ever and ever £o 
sing, 'tis Christmas day ! 

VI. 

Now carol, gentles, gentles all, 

*Tis holy Christmas Day, 
And when this holy tide doth fall, 

Let every heart be gay, 

And every good soul pray. 

In cottage or in hall ! 

For ivy, groweth every year. 
The ivy bay and holly grow. 
And every year the birth of Christ 
Converteth heart to manger low. 
Then up with the ivy, the ivy and 

holly, the holly and bay, 
And carol, carol every one, 'tis 

Christmas Day ! 



T> E C E 9^ B E R 



O, carol, gentles, gentles all, 

That Jesus lived and died ; ^^"^ 

Ye old or young or great or small, 

Carol the Christmastide 

Where'er ye be or bide. 

In field or wood or wall ! 

For ivy groweth, etc. 



O, carol, gentles, gentles free. 
The night the angels sang 

And shepherds hurried for to see 
Why all the music sprang : 
Then earthly good w^ill rang, 
And glory heavenly ! 

For ivy groweth, etc. 



O, carol, gentles, gentles brave. 
The Christ a little child. 

The stall, the kine, the stable-cave. 
The holy mother mild. 
Who on the infant smiled 
That all the world should save ! 

For ivy groweth, etc. 



144 



"DECEMBER 



O, carol, gentles, gentles kind, 
The wise men and the kings, 

And the new star that out hath shined 
And them to manger brings ; 
And round the earth it flings 
Sw^eet light to every mind ! 



For ivy groweth, etc. 



Now carol, gentles, gentles fair. 
Loud carol all the earth. 

And let the Christ-song ring the air, 
And ring the heart to mirth 
This tide of holy birth 
That breaketh everywhere ! 

For ivy groweth, etc. 



JANUARY 



JANUARY 

"A Happy New Year— I take my 
text from the lips of men ! * ' 'Twas so 
I heard the poet-preacher, Samuel 
Longfellow, begin a sermon. Then 
he w^ent on in his discourse by this 
method, namely, first asking why w^e 
should not be happy, and whether for 
this reason, or for this other reason, 
or still for this other cause, or again 
for yet another hap or chance ; and 
then the preacher gave reasons w^hy 
none of these causes should destroy 
happiness; and after that, he continued 
his discourse by counting and por- 
traying many kind and gracious 
Providential things from which w^e 
may glean happiness always, if we will; 
and so the sermon w^as builded. In 
the first part of it I remember the 
preacher said, "Why should we not 
be happy? Is it because of difficult 
things we must do, hard tasks to be 
surmounted, strenuous labors to be 
met ? And have we not learned that 



149 



J A K U A R 



1 r A always we may prevail over the 
strong difficulty, and when we have 
prevailed its strength passes into us ?" 
'Twas much more than a half century 
ago that I heard the sermon, and yet 
I remember it w^ell, and often run back 
to its light, and I behold still with 
what a joyful manner the preacher 
spoke, as if a breeze were playing 
around his head and making aeolian 
music with his long, light, wavy hair. 
A Happy New Year!— a good text 
for the church, and a lovely, loving, 
recurrent annual greeting. In that 
time more than fifty years back, that 
greeting made a great festival yearly. 
Well I remember it in Dutch New 
York, and all its preparations. For 
many days beforehand, the family, and 
especially the father and mother, held 
consultation to make out the list 
of calls, from which none must be 
forgotten, even if only hovering over 
some tender margin of acquaintance. 
Then, on the day before, there was 
great baking and brewing, and the 
bringing in of fruits and delicate 
kickshaws. On the New Year morn- 



JANUARY 



ing the family was early astir, long 
before light. Breakfast was taken by 
lamp or candle. Then the dining 
room w^as cleared and garnished, and 
a large table spread handsomely, and 
loaded w^ith things from w^hich a very 
substantial and goodly repast could be 
chosen, and these w^ere replenished 
continually throughout the day till 
late into the night, so that the board 
never lost its festal and newly-arrayed 
look. At nine o'clock in the morning 
my father sallied forth in his sleigh, 
armed w^ith his list of calls w^ell 
arranged in divisions according to 
streets and numbers ; and at the same 
hour the callers began to come, and 
my mother was in lovely array to 
receive them. On the departure of 
every guest, his name was punctihously 
entered on a list, for which a pencil 
and paper w^ere kept at hand on the 
mantle-shelf. At noon home came 
my father w^ith a rush becoming the 
mighty business of the hour. Came 
he home for food? No, he found 
tables everywhere, and he knew^ how 
to time his calls in such manner as to 



151 



152 



J A K U A R Y 



bring up at dinner-time at some old 
friend's house where he could partake 
intimately at his good pleasure. Or 
came he home by reason of weariness? 
No, he was still as strong as a lion. 
He came solely to examine my 
mother's list of calls, to make sure that 
he should not fail to call on any lady 
w^hose husband or son had called on 
my mother. Forth he went again with 
a manner of w^ild eagerness, and w^ith 
the same rush he came home again at 
about six or seven o'clock in the 
evening to correct once more his list 
by my mother's, and very likely again 
at nine o'clock; and finally he came 
home at ten or eleven o'clock trium- 
phant, with happy sense of a fine 
old custom well sustained, and no 
omissions made nor aught on the 
horizon of acquaintance overlooked. 
As I grew^ unto suitable age, even 
while yet but an unsociable boy, I w^as 
trotted forth into the festival w^ith my 
father, and those w^ere proud days. 
The kindly custom has gone the way 
of many other old-fashioned excel- 
lencies—more is the pity. 



J A K U A R 



A Happy New Year!— 'Tis a reason- 
able greeting. For happiness much 
resembles climate ; it may be likened 
to the weather-record of a year. One 
winter is called summerish; again, a 
summer, winterish ; but those w^ho 
attend to it carefully tell us that always 
the year comes in its cycle to the 
fullness of its own, constantly having 
the due and right totals of heat and 
of cold in the twelve months. Now^ as 
the years are compounded of many 
changeable things, yet never lack sim- 
ilar complexions one with another, so 
belike it is with happiness, which hath 
many variable clouds, yet fails not in 
the annual round to attain its dues of 
sunshine. 

There be short days. 

There be long days, 

But one is all the year ; 

There be soft skies, 

There be rough skies. 

But in th' u naltered clear : 

And the year and the clear are the 

heart's stay vv^hile days and skies 

are passing. 



153 



J A K U A R Y 

g There be glad sighs, 

^^^ There be sad sighs, 

But life 's the same at end ; 
There be soothed ways, 
There be hard ways. 
But none without a friend : 
And the end and the friend are the 
heart's stay w^hile sighs and w^ays 
are passing. 

There be fleet streams, 

There be slow streams, 

But all to the Infinite Main ; 

There be things lost. 

There be loves lost. 

But all once had is gain : 

And the Main and the gain are the 

heart's stay while streams and 

things are passing. 

There be old years. 

And the NEW YEAR ! 

And the East is one w^ith the West ; 

To the old, Hail! 

To the new. Hail ! 

And w^ith God be all the rest : 

And the West and the rest are the 

full heart's stay w^hile old and new^ 

are passing. 



J A N U A R Y 



A Happy New Year! — But bethink 
thee that happiness is not a happening 
— "roasted larks falling into the 
mouth." Happiness comes of disci- 
pline, right thinking and right doing, 
and both of them steadily. 

The New Year is no more seasonable 
for beginning any good thing than any 
other season is, but all are opportune. 
The time to begin a good thing is on 
the moment w^hen w^e see it to be 
good, and it calls to us. But the New^ 
Year is a good time to bethink us to 
continue all good things that hereto- 
fore we have begun. For it is easy to 
begin, but hard to continue. **Be not 
w^eary in w^ell doing," is w^ise, shrew^d 
Scripture, and "in due time w^e shall 
reap if we faint not." In reading I 
would put the stress on that little w^ord, 
the If. It signifies how likely w^e are 
to grow^ w^eary — the more if the reap- 
ing or the rew^ard be delayed, as very 
often it is, and we be stuffed with the 
notion of rew^ard, as very often w^e are. 

'Tis easy to meet any great tax once. 
The second time, it is no little harder. 
The fourth and fifth time, it begins to 



155 



156 



J A K U A R Y 



be heroic. The tenth time it calleth 
for a "veray parfit gen til knight," and 
the hundredth time it is the virtue of 
the Saint. 

What is there in Ufe, save indolence, 
that hath not the grain of it tried by 
continuance? *Tis sweet to fall in love; 
but to continue in love is discipline. 
To fall into it is a happy and easy 
letting go, as if one softly glide into 
delicious warm waters ; but w^arm 
waters will strangle as surely as cold 
unless w^e have the discipline of the 
sw^immer — which is an art, to be 
learned; and so is loving, by thought 
and care, by prayer and practice. 'Tis 
so with all things worth doing, all 
noble labors; they are easy to begin, 
or do once, but hard to continue. Yet 
this virtue, that we *'be not weary in 
w^ell doing," is easier to a real love 
than to any other pow^ers, and this, 
methinks, is a most heavenly fact, full 
of happiness for us. 

Therefore at the setting forth of the 
New Year, it is good time for us to 
set foj-th anew^ and reassure ourselves 
in this strenuosity, the "bein"^ not 



J A K U A R Y 



weary in well doing." As to reward, j^gj 
continuance is able to be its own 
rew^ard ; for it grow^eth to be a dignity 
of mind, w^hich is the greatest cheer 
and solace. Also it arriveth at great 
strength, and to be strong is great 
happiness. Here comes forward love 
again, as great joy because so unweary- 
ing. Love falters not even w^hen 
confronting death, and this is an 
extreme blessedness. 

Thought saith, " Alas, I tire : 
I fail - 1 can no longer count : 
There is no end behind or fore, 
'Tis double darkness I explore : 
Like twinkling flames the moments 
mount:" 
Thought saith, *'Alas, I tire." 

Love saith, "/ weary not,— 
Tiptoe the darkness fearlessly : 
As glints of flame the moments 

mount ; 
I follow— blissfully I count. 
And I can reckon endlessly :" 
Love saith, "/w^eary not." 



158 



JANUARY 



Love, I take part -with thee : 
The seasons run from night to night ; 
But I can reckon endlessly, 
From dark to dark look fearlessly : 
'Tis the New Year, the glad, the bright: 
Love, I take part with thee ! 



A Happy New Year! — "In the abund- 
ance of the heart," w^hich is all my 
wealth, I have found a hymn of this 
blissful greeting. If, since no man can 
have all riches, that one is richest w^ho 
hath the best riches, then am I among 
the most fortunate. For how much 
more affluent is he who possesseth 
little stuff, but much heart to bestow it 
w^ithal, than he w^ho hath great sub- 
stance but little love. 

"I've brought thee an ivy-leaf, only an ivy-leaf," 

saith an old song. Only an ivy-leaf— 
as if one should say. Only a w^ork of 
God ! In like manner I bring a song, 
only my little song. But— a song! 
For Who is it giveth us to sing ? So 
offer I this song of the greeting, A 
Happy New Year : 



JANUARY 



A Glad New Year unto my friends, 
And eke from them to me ! 159 

But well I know I find no joy 
Till joy to them I be : 



And w^ell I know my well-beloved, 
My loves and friends, can taste 

No joy themselves till they w^ith joy 
Their little w^orld have graced : 



And well I know^ each little world 

Of neighborhood and few, 
Joys not, till they w^ith some like joy 

The earth's one w^orld endue : 



And well I know^ the earth's one world 

Is sad, till all abroad 
It be worth joy for all the worlds 

That roll i' the love of God. 



What shall w^e pray, this Glad New^ 
Year, 

But this, that Happy We 
Each in his part may Happy make 

These holy regions three : 



JANUARY 



Which be one's own, then neighbor- 
160 hood, 

And then the world aw^ay ; 
Mayhap at last— sweet mystic bond !— 

All worlds in God that play. 

A Happy New Year !— On the bosom 
of this gentle greeting, while a coming 
New Year "cast its shadow before," 
I fell into a fanciful revery, and had 
this vision : 

My Soul and I set forth on a walk, or 
rather on a short path in a long 
wayfaring. 'Twas early in the morn- 
ing, at the dim hour of daw^n. We 
walked in a small plain, amid all the 
objects that dress the meadows with 
loveliness, and before us w^as a hill, 
a pleasant slope, wearing a green 
garment and a brow^n cap w^ith green 
plumes of cedar. We w^alked along 
w^ith much merry and some merry- 
sober converse. For 
My soul and I are fellow travelers 

good 
That talk not of each other, but 

commune 
Of what w^e see i' the air and field 

and w^ood ; 



J A K U A R 



Nor what we speak not think w^e of, 

nor croon 
Sickly unto ourselves about ourselves, 
But jaunt along with eye-light and a 

tune, — 

Singing of birds and brooks, of girls 

(sweet elves), 
Of boys and loves, of hearth-fires red 

and bright, 
And yellow^ f urrow^s w^here the yeoman 

delves. 

These be what flood my Soul and 
me w^ith light. 

Then said my Soul looking at the hill. 
Yonder is the New^ Year; w^e must 
climb to the top of the dawn of it, or 
rather, go airily up, for 'tis an easy 
green path ; and from the top there 
are long grand prospects, eastw^ard 
and westward, in seeing which w^e 
shall revel much, belike sing of them. 
Then w^e ascended, and looked first 
westward. Behold the many past 
years, said I. No, said my Soul. 



161 



162 



JANUARY 



Past years? Not so. What's past 

unto our Lord ? 
Nay, what is past unto the soul o' me? 
Are fountains past when in the ocean 

stored ? 

Of flowery springs have brooks no 

memory, 
Or doth the river cease to be the 

brook, 
Or w^hen extinct are rivers in the sea ? 

Nay, but the runnel holds the bubbling 

nook. 
And eke the river chronicles the rill. 
Nor more are all in the wide main 

forsook. 

So the dear years part not from me, 
nor will. 

Behold, said my Soul, where we are. 
Look not westward nor eastw^ard, but 
overhead and round about our feet. 
What can we look for that is not here? 
What that is green and yellow^, rich, 
food-full, lightsome, more than these 
things ? Or w^hat more grand and 
glorious than is overhead ? 



J A K U A R Y 



For this I tell thee, this thy Soul 

doth say, 
That here or nowhere is the richest 

loam 
Creation's angels on the granite lay. 

For let be what it may, it is thy home; 
And let be what it may, that it thou 

till 
Thou hast come hither and hast hither 

clomb. 

And here the honey-heavy rains do 

spill. 
And here the glory of the sun 's thy 

creed, 
And sky-enriched soils with riches 

fiU. 

Ay, seek and find ! — that is thy only 
need. 

Now said I to my Soul, What is this 
to the eastw^ard ? *Tis a great sight, 
'tis a mighty heavens, but 'tis dim, 
neither day-light nor darkness. And 
yet I see stars persevering, and plainly 
sprinkled all over it ; yea, and a 
glorious, tenderly gleaming, beautiful 



163 



164 



J A N U A R Y 



roadway, like as a bed of crystal 
sea-sand. And my Soul answered, 
That is the New Year, the w^hole sky 
thereof, whose up-streaming from the 
horizon we behold. 

Look forth with un-self-thinking 

eye, and see 
Where the east-rising year is a dim 

sky 
Thick with a milky-w^ay of hours for 

thee : 

And lo, the constellated lights enriched 
hard by 

That w^ide w^hite path, and th* indefat- 
igable pole, 

Great stars of great occasions for the 
eye ! 

O, memory 's bare and savage to my 

soul, 
Till Love and Faith array me as a 

dress, 
And to Who joyed the past I trust 

the w^hole. 

The Old enriched doth th' New most 
richly bless. 



J A N U A R 



Ay, said I to my Soul, but there are 
more years. Yes, said my Soul, no end 
of years. No end is a long end, said I. 
'Tis the only thing that is long, said 
my Soul, for ''nothing is really long 
that ends at all." With this my Soul 
and I talked of Life and Death, of the 
mortal and the unmortal. For, said my 
Soul, *'the healthy soul desires to live," 
and that desire hath a promise in it, 
because 'tis health. 

Like sunrise on the dim vault of a 

year 
Burns the all-future ; 'tis faith and 

trust, 
'Tis hope and joy, peace, health and 

wealth and cheer ! 

It saith unto the feet. Tread ye in dust. 
But carry a head in commerce with 

the sky, 
With all th' unmortal, beautiful and just. 

My Soul saith. Tell thyself naught is 

too high 
To dream of, nor aught too great effect 
To look for ; health doth refuse to die. 

Who can of God too mightily expect ? 



165 



166 



J A K U A R 



Then my Soul spake no more of the 
unmortal only, but of the eternal, 
and recited to me great things, 
such as, "The eternal God is our 
dwelling-place, and underneath are the 
everlasting arms." Then my Soul 
sang with a great voice, thus, — and 
methought the winds took harps to 
accompany him ! 

"Lift up your heads, ye gates; be ye 

up-lift, 
Ye everlasting doors !" The King is 

come! 
His countenance hath scattered Time 

and drift. 

*Tis still, now! The loud worlds 

cease to hum, 
The stars of morning have no more 

to tell, 
And the soul knows, but mouth is 

striken dumb. 

"He inhabiteth eternity !" 'Tis well, 
'Tis very well with us ! O Life ! O 

God! 
"Lift up your heads, ye gates!" Shema 

YisraeL 



JANUARY 



Adonoi Elohenu, Adonoi Ehad ! * 

*ThegTeat cry of the Hebrews, "Hear,0 Israel, 
the Eternal is Our God, the Eternal is One!" 

A Happy New Year ! Here I will 
offer my reader w^ho kindly hath come 
with me hitherto a New Year Song that 
w^as a dream-child. I was sitting late 
into the New^ Year's Eve, resolved to 
"w^atch the old year out," w^hen I fell 
asleep ; and the Spirit of Song came to 
me in a dream, and said. My heart is 
brimming with a lay of the New^ Year; 
w^ouldst like to have it ? I flushed my 
welcome (for I could not speak) and 
the song was chanted into my ear, and 
when the Spirit's voice had ceased, 
like music dying away, I awoke to the 
last tone of the midnight bell : 



167 



J A N U A R Y 



168 



SONG 

And O, if I shall tell, my dear. 
If I shall tell the time o' year, 
The time that giveth most o' cheer, 
And most 's our own, 
And most by love is known. 
What shall it be ? 

And O, shall it be Spring, my dear, 
Shall it be Spring when first a-clear, 
When first it shineth far and near. 
And far doth glow. 
And far the zephyrs blow— 
This shall it be ? 

And O, shall it be June, my dear, 
Shall it be June w^hen roses peer. 
When roses blooming bright are here 
With bright gay heads 
And bright and various reds — 
This shall it be ? 



JANUARY 



And O, shall it be Fall, my dear, 
Shall it be Fall, when gold the spear, 
When gold and brown and ripe the ear, 
And ripe the fruits. 
That ripened Winter suits— 
This shall it be ? 

Ah no ! Not one nor all, my dear, 
Not one nor all, but w^intry cheer, 
The wintry primal glad New^ Year, 
When glad the heart 
Doth glad each other's part — 
This shall it be. 

For O, th' angelic snow, my dear, 
Th* angelic snow, and ice how sheer. 
The ice that tinkles frosty clear, 

And frosty fills 

With frosted light the sills 

O' the opening year. 

And O, the troops of nuns, my dear. 
The troops of nuns that w^hite appear 
Where w^hite the picket rows up-rear. 

In rows where snow^ 

The row^s doth now o'er-blow^, 

And hood them here. 



169 



170 



J A N U A R 



And O, the evergreens, my dear, 
The evergreens that mock and fleer, 
That mock at storms, and shine in gear 

Of shining ice, 

That shining in a trice 

Berobes them sheer. 

And O, the bare-bough trees, my dear, 
The bare -bough trees that are not drear. 
But are a shape of grace severe, 

Of grace that sky 

More graces ivith a dry. 

Bright emerald clear. 

And O, the yellow flames, my dear, 
The yellow flames on hearth that veer, 
On hearth domestic where is cheer. 
And where a kiss 
And where all human bliss 
Hath naught to fear. 

Then O, how festal fair, my dear. 
How festal fair this time o' year. 
This time when hearts o' love sincere 

New love employ. 

With love say. Here be joy,— 

••Happy New Year !'* 



FEBRUARY 



FESRUA31Y 175 

Hail to February, Frost King ! Hail 
to his perfection of hero-making cold! 
In November Winter announces him- 
self, but he hath not really entered or 
laid hold. In December he hath come 
in, but he is a gentle youth who hath 
much more in him than is yet apparent. 
In January he hath grown sturdy, but 
he keeps still a tender memory of his 
youth, for so I may call the regularly 
recurring January thaw. In February 
he comes to the full glory of his polar 
powers, and showeth us amply what 
he can do. I care not in what thing 
there is found perfection, 'tis still 
perfection, and a glory. I w^ould not 
envy the man that hath not been 
envious and transfixed before the 
perfectness of a lofty tumbler \s^hirling 
himself like a wheel twice or thrice 
betw^een a height of ten feet and the 
ground. February hath this perfect- 
ness in cold, and utters such a con- 
gealing breath as seems to hang the 



176 



FEBRUARY 



unquenchable ruddiness of the morn- 
ing or twilight with a frosty lace. 

'Tis a short and merry turn from the 
wealthy cold of February to the vaulted 
and wide-throated house-fire; and 
especially w^hat engages my heartland 
mind is the open fire, whether in the 
sociable living-room or in a man's 
own studious cubby-den. As to the 
beauty of it, this is so common a 
conclusion that everyone exclaims it, 
whenever an open fire-place is met, 
burning w^ood or coal, and w^hether 
hard or soft. But often I have thought 
of the varied stages, shapes and kinds 
of beauty which an open fire has, 
especially the wood and the anthracite. 
When the w^ood colors, and mayhap 
the bubbles of sap are mingled with 
broad but shallow chars, and with 
bright flames and rolling smoke, there 
is one kind of beauty, and very rich, 
which passes through many degrees 
to the heap of splendid w^ood coals, 
and these again to the gray pearl ash 
which the fiery spirit has left without 
rending or tearing it, so that it stays 
in the shape of the wood, and looks 



FEBRUARY 



like the same done by a strange art in 
powdered stone. So with the anthra- 
cite fire ; its beauties have as many 
changes as a chime of bells. First as 
many colors as may be betw^een a white 
heat and a quiet, ruddy glow^ ; but this 
glow^, if it be dying away, is one beauty, 
but if it be sprinkled with black coals, 
which slowly are kindling, there is 
another; and this leads to the greatest 
beauty of the hard coal fire, to my 
mind, w^hich is a lusty, brilliant fire 
below, draw^n very hot, thence cool- 
ing upw^ard to coals just kindling at 
the top; for then the fire is covered 
all over w^ith w^aving tufts and feathers 
of blue flame, flecked now^ and then 
with a yellow flash, or, if the heat be 
driven more, the light yellow over- 
comes the blue to a kind of purple 
flame, or to soft yellow^ shoots or 
cones edged and bottomed with lilac; 
and under this the blue black of the 
coal, which has become bluer still by 
reason of the flame, and under this a 
deep, glowing, orange incandescent 
by degrees to a white light in the 
depths of the fire. It is no little beauty 



177 



FEBRUARY 



of this way of heating a room that it 
1 ' o joins light and calescence, charming 
the eye as well as the nerves of touch 
on which the billows of heat fall like 
surf on the bather. What is light 
w^ithout heat but a glare ? and what is 
heat w^ithout light but a mere roasting 
or scorching ? Which reminds me to 
denounce those holes in the floor 
called registers, out of which comes a 
noisome breath of oxidized iron if they 
be not carefully looked to ; also those 
vile inventions, called steam heaters, 
which prop their ugly, lank pipes, 
howsoever disguised, in the corner to 
ill treat the eye, and still more abuse 
the lungs w^ith air they heat without 
freshening. Not that I w^ould call all 
registers naught but black mouths 
of a "red hell" below, for modern 
inventions have their comforts. But 
it is w^ell to hold them tight in their 
place lest so they override us as to put 
gentle beauties to flight. Let t heref ore 
a furnace be used, if need be, for its 
dusky utility; but save places for the 
open fire for its cheerful beauty. The 
open fire-place is like a singer's throat. 



F E B R U A R Y 



a wide mouth of comfort and pleasure. 
*Tis also its virtue to be an excellent 1*9 
ventilation of the room by reason of 
its large, open w^ay to the chimney. 
A closed stove will do something; for, 
as air must go through it, so it will 
draw^ the air it needs through the 
doors, the w^indow^s and cracks; but 
an open fire with its generous gateway 
above the fuel w^ill do much more for 
fresh air, and that does much for good 
thought and good humor. 

Among the charms of an open fire 
I must include the poking of it, for I 
envy not his dull temper or chilled 
phlegm w^ho can sit by a fire without 
provocation to stir it, especially if it 
be w^ood or soft coal; and w^ood most 
of all, whose flaming charms are as 
great a mingling of the coy and the 
quick as any buxom belle at a country 
ball. It must be coaxed much to do 
its best, but then flames out indeed. 
But it is excellent comfort to poke a 
fire, especially if one be alone with it, 
for it w^ill throw a show^er of sparks 
like witty foils at the first persuasion; 
but if the poker (I mean the implement 



180 



FEBRUARY 



or the man, or both, as the reader 
may choose), persist, soon shoots a 
flame, and then many, which have the 
charm of a conversation. A hard coal 
fire is different. This is a taciturn 
companion by comparison, but a great 
smiler; if it gurgle not v/ith flame, it is 
very amiable with a ruddy smile all 
over its broad face. In the poking 
of wood or anthracite, there is a 
difference which may be called capital 
or radical, as one looks from below or 
above; for the one must be poked on 
the top and the other on the bottom. 
Far be it to abuse my readers by 
telling them w^hich is to be poked one 
way and which the other, as if they 
knew not so simple a thing; yet be it 
said that if one be stirred from the 
bottom it will go out, and if the other 
from the top, it w^ill not burn. From 
which I could draw me an elegant 
moral with good grace, to-wit: That 
everything has its right side or end to 
be touched on, and w^ill do ill if handled 
otherwise. But another moral comes 
up, and a more solemn, to-wit : That, 
though fire be such a gay, gracious 



FEBRUARY 



and smiling servant, it turns to a terror 
if it gets the mastery. How cheerily 
burns the fire on the hearth or in the 
stove grate set out into the room! 
And ho>v pleasantly mix around it the 
prattle, the gossip, the wise talk, the 
merriment, like flowers of many hues 
in one nosegay! But scatter a coal or 
two unnoticed in a corner, beneath a 
settle, under a curtain, or where papers 
lie astray, and forthwith up leaps a 
demon, and soon a legion of them, 
which hardly may be routed by day, 
and by night will swarm over the 
house, kindling it like a pile of fagots, 
till the earth and the heavens gape like 
a fiery mouth, and the flames shoot 
and shout like red devils' tongues. 
Now herein lies a moral, I say, or a 
picture w^ith a precept; for how^ many 
things in life are good if curbed or 
bound, but loosened or unwarded turn 
enemies! and these even among the 
very best of things (as, in sooth, they 
must be, for what is sterling or precious 
if it have no strength?), like govern- 
ment, wealth, w^rath, love. The which 
reflection, if a man w^ill follow out, 



181 



182 



FEBRUARY 



seated toasting comfortably before his 
fire, he will spend a very wholesome 
hour. 

I defy anyone to write about his 
open fire w^ithout turning confidential 
about himself and falling to at his own 
feelings as at a feast. For what more 
of a banquet can there be than when 
one feeds bits of himself to his vanity 
with his pen-point ? And where occur 
more of his doings, feelings and 
thoughts than at his fireside? And, 
hence, where w^ill he himself more 
cheerfully pop, like the best of good 
genii, into his own presence? Where- 
fore now^ I go straightway to myself 
w^ith my ow^n fire, and let him find me 
egotistical w^ho w^ill. Tw^o points 
w^herein I have enjoyed my open fire 
with solitary complacency are cooking 
and sleeping. If aught be more de- 
lightful than late in the "wee sma' 
hours," to lay aside the book or pen, 
stretch me in my big chair and my feet 
on the hob, and fall a-dreaming, till after 
a little I bestir myself, having dreamed 
of toast or parched corn, and then do 
a slice to a turn before the fire, or 



FEBRUARY 



watch (and hear, too, for two senses 
have delights herein and soon a third, 
to-wit, taste) the kernels leap to white 
flakes in the w^ire netting; and then, 
w^ith a sprinkle of salt, enjoy the one, 
or, w^ith a bit of Edam or Brie, the 
other— if there be aught more charm- 
ing than this, I say, let any one tell 
me what. As to the sleeping, this 
sometimes follows the toast or corn; 
and many a half -conscious, often half- 
rousing and then again sinking and 
dream-mingled, fancy-fraught and 
altogether charming slumberous rest 
have I had on my cushioned settle 
drawn before the fire. There w^e sit 
blinking at each other— I and the fire, 
not the settle— till the glowing beauty 
outblinks me, and I retire cosily behind 
my eyelids. But often I turn this same 
delight to account, for many a time 
and oft it has been the stopping places 
of a night's w^ork, like the inns on a 
tiresome journey. I have begun at 
eve tired, the which beginning was a 
good nap before my fire, as before 
described; then I have roused me at 
the edging hour of nine, and scribbled 



183 



184 



FEBRUARY 



as if a spirit lay in my fingers, till 
the witching time was past by sixty 
minutes; then again I have slept at my 
fireside, w^aking promptly in an hour, 
refreshed for work again; and this 
alternation I have repeated twice more 
in the night before the gray midwinter 
dawn bickered with my lamp. 

The house-fires, and the open fire 
not the least, levy tax of no little work 
and care, and inventions are promised 
w^hich shall heat our houses comfort- 
ably from some central source, where 
all the labor w^ill be concentered, and 
all the slag and ashes. But I hope we 
never shall grow so indolent or so 
insensible as not to cleave to the open 
fire in some hospitable and conspicuous 
thoroughfare or common room in the 
dwelling. As to the ashes, they pave 
an excellent love-avenue, when 'tis a 
man's arm applies them to that purpose. 
"The total depravity of inanimate 
things", in sooth is a very wanton 
saying, a flattery of ineptitude, of un- 
careful mind, of unskilled fingers, — 
unless it be only a venture in humor, 
not bad if jocose and good-natured, 



F E B R U A R Y 



but very bad indeed if ill-natured. 
This I considered when removing the 
ashes from our great house-stove; 
for what could be more perversely 
light-footed than w^arm ashes? They 
are w^orse than thistle down, they 
dance on air, they have w^ings swifter 
than a humming bird's, and little bodies 
more intrusive than gnats. Yet I 
persuaded them to a most gentle 
subsidence and nestling obedience, 
by means of a pail of w^ater and a 
long-handled dipper. With these I 
plentifully moistened the bed of ashes, 
so that not a mote took flight when I 
tumbled them into the hod. Which 
is what she would wish, said I; for she 
is not • 'painfully neat" or curious, 
not she, but she will not put up with 
things that are as unsightly to the 
mind as to the eye ; and this happens 
when something whose worth is burn- 
ed out makes rubbish on things still 
useful, she says. With this reflection, 
mind's eye had instant vision of the 
gentle w^oman upstairs, and the w^ork 
glowed; the ashen heap kindled again 
like gold on silver, as if what was dead 



185 



F E B R U A R Y 



jl^gg in a fiery furnace could burn in the 
soul, airy with flame. 

Ah, lowly services how sweet they 
be! 
Behold, from out a w^ell 
One can look up and tell 
The stars at mid-day, and their twinkle 



And so up from my lowly love's 
intent 
And w^hat small deeds I may, 
Above the garish day 
I see thee, dear, shine in thy firmament. 

And for that thou look'st down, 

being such a height. 
As I must from my place 
Turn up to thee my face. 
So as I see must thou see— light is 

sight : 

I think from my deep wells I no 

more look — 
Wells of small deeds obscure— 
Than thou, whose lights allure. 
Regard of me in my small pits hast 

took. 



F E B R U A R Y 



I gainsay not 'tis dear in greater 
things 
Either to serve, or fly- 
Level with thee to try 
In equal enterprise conjoining wings; 

Disown I not the sweetness of thine 
eyes 
When straight in mine they gaze, 
When kind love-chances raise 
Me to be comrade in rich exercise ; 

But O, methinks 'tis a more blessed 

care 
Which then I take of you. 
When I some drudging do 
Too crass for reverent soul to let thee 

share. 

Then most, up from my lowly love's 
intent 
And those small deeds I may, 
Above the garish day 
I see thee, dear, shine in thy firmament. 

Yes, and this more the man-heart in 
me says, to wit, that if a man have 
any flavor of antique chivalry in him. 



187 



188 



F E B R U A R Y 



without which he is no manner of 
man at all, ah! then he thinks it fit 
reason for being (no less) to shield a 
w^oman from the coarser labors if he 
can, and if he can not, then to grieve 
over it, gilding the rough fortunes 
with lights of his attentions and rev- 
erence. A man is a shabby scrub who 
prefers his ease to honoring a w^oman, 
as to sit while a woman stands, or to 
act the Turk w^hile a w^oman serves, 
or to take aught first or best w^hile a 
woman waits, or to push or precede 
w^hile his love should make all women 
as one Queen. Nor matters it whether 
a material purse hath thatched his back 
w^ell; for a scrubby and inglorious 
mannishness is like vermin, — velvet 
may harbor it, and rags may be void 
of it. 

O, what the deeps of the soul may be 
If most to one woman because unto all! 
What heavens in the eye to see ! 
What pure religion w^herein to fall 
Toward her that giveth the sister to 

brother. 
That on the son besto weth the mother^ 



F E B R U A R Y 



That to the husband bringeth the wife, 
And unto each proves what is life, lo9 

Here or up above— 
Immeasurable love ! 

As I said it w^as a short and merry 
turn from the wealthy cold of February 
to the house-fires, so, by the grace of 
the Spirit of Song, whom having 
w^ritten so far, I invoked, the return 
is ready and easy. Dear Spirit, said I, 
prythee sing for me the vigor of 
February. Right willingly, said the 
kind Spirit, and did so, thus : 



F E B R U A R Y 
190 



SONG 

February, thou art sheer wintry time: 
Nor Christmas carols nor the New 
Year chime 
To thee belong. 
The more methinks a crispy grace 

And lively throng 
Of beauties habit in thy face, 
Lone w^orth a song. 

Though many months have natural 

pleasures w^arm, 
Or in them bright appointed pleasures 
swarm 
In spite of cold, 
Thou comest with lone beauties dear 

And manifold. 
And askest naught to give us cheer 
But thine own hold. 



F E B R U A R Y 



How lovely round thy neck thy 

brilliants hang 
That, as from misty sky they shaped 
and sprang, 
So show its fires : 
From twilight east, w^est, high or low^, 

Like burning pyres, 
Icicles the half- vernal glow 
Catch in their spires. 

Nor matters whether snow^ slope east 

or w^est. 
The same its fleece of whiteness is 
caressed 
By rosy sun ; 
The setting glory painteth it 

When day is done. 
And on its breast the splendors sit 
When day 's begun. 

Nor e'er were trees so black against 

the w^hite, 
Cut on the lustres like silhouettes of 
night 
Upon a noon : 
How^ crispy-feather-like the tips, 
How crisp their tune ! 



191 



192 



FEBRUARY 



Almost methinks more fine these 
whips 
Than greens of June. 

Revels of cold frequent the country 

o'er, 
And dancing pixies foot the watery 
floor 
With clicks full frore ; 
Frost-drowsy winds forget to roar, 

Lulling th' lea shore 
Which the unfreezing w^hite-caps 
spore 
With ice galore ! 

O, February ! Sole February ! 
Thou ask'st no help of other, man or 
fairy, 
On hill or prairie ! 
Thine urchins ow^n, w^ith torches 
flare-y 
And glee unchary, 
Light thy ten-thousand snow orbs 
glary, 
Sole February ! 



MARCH 



MARCH 197 

Let March come in, the blustering 
youngster, last of Winter's sturdy 
four— 'tis better to welcome him, for 
he '11 not stay out. And sooth he is a 
fine fellow, to be w^elcomed songf ully. 
Yes, of the tw^elve he is not the least 
deserving to be sung, if of that bright 
circle any is undeserving, or one 
deserves over another or hath any 
sum of advantage. 

March is not so rough and boisterous 
a f ellow^ as he seems. He is a lad with 
a rude pretence but a girl's heart. 
That heart, which is no pretence, 
continually flashes out of him, as a 
diamond w^hose center is lucency will 
emit sparkles on any evocation. Now^, 
March reveals the soft heart under his 
windy shag in three w^ays : First, as 
I just have said in brief, though he 
may keep up bluff airs never so, yet 
he constantly displays his heart at 
every convenience (if I may apply 
such a word to weather), like a boy 



198 



MARCH 



in his first down, who puts on furies 
manfully (as he deems it), but forgets 
himself often, and then his heart 
escapes, as a w^ild bird submissively 
caged will out and off like a shaft if 
the cage door unhinge or the wires 
part but a little. March is as variable, 
wayward, capricious as April's self, 
though not so changeably ready *'to 
post with such dexterity" from mood 
to mood in so little time as April can. 
But then neither hath April such 
extreme contrasts of moods as March 
has. The proverb is that if he come 
in like a lamb he will go out like a 
lion; but he is very scriptural all 
throughout his thirty one days— the 
lion and lamb lie down together. On 
one day he may roar fiercely from the 
north-east and bite us with steely 
snow^ ; on the next day he may smile 
with the balm of south w^inds and 
drive us to cover from his fervency. 
Sometimes with his smile he swells 
the fruit buds out of their safe w^inter 
somnolency, and then cuts them off 
with next day's icy breath. But there 
is no malice in the freak, and if it 



MARCH 



disappoint man's palate somewhat, it 
may charm his eye and launch his 
blood the more. 

March is a winter month in this 
climate, but w^ith a difference. As 
fervid days in September have a mys- 
terious quality of difference from the 
ardency of days of June or July, so 
the cold of March differs from the 
rigor of February, even if the glass 
report as low^. You feel that Winter's 
hold is loosened. 

Secondly, March can boast some 
heralds of the coming pomp of the sun. 
One easily may meet a robin in March, 
and the hepatica, and the evergreen 
arbutus rosy under a felted blanket of 
brown leaves. 

Finally, it is certain that April follows 
this month, w^hich blessed fact may 
be taken as a part of the soft heart of 
March; for he does nothing to deny 
the next month, and much to concede 
it, and the expectation of April is as 
much a part of March as one's country 
or home complexions the sea that w^e 
traverse thither. 

Not many poets have fallen in love 



199 



200 



MARCH 



with March, or even dropped a wayside 
friendly song for him. But surely 
that is for lack in the ear of the voice 
heard in Peter's vision (Acts X, 15 . 
The Spirit of Song was not averse 
w^hen I entreated some music for 
March, but came to me soon, and gave 
me the following : 



MARCH 

201 
SONG 

I say, bluff March, 

You *re not so rough a fellow 

As you look. 

Here 's a brook 

Will show the sunny yellow 

Of heaven's bright arch, 

And the leaping little billows 

Laugh at pussies on the willows, 

Very soon, very soon, — 

I say, bluff March ! 

I say, bright birds. 

Ye prophesy a singing 

Wide a-field, 

And a yield 

Of verdure that is springing 

To feed blithe herds. 

When your wavy shadow passes 

Over w^avy-w^avy grasses, 

Very soon, very soon, — 

I say, bright birds ! 

147 



202 



MARCH 



I say, brown buds, 

Your greening and your swelling 

On the limb, 

Set the slim 

And misty twigs a-telling 

Of sw^eet rich floods 

Up imbibing roots a-pouring, 

To the topmost leaf a-soaring, 

Very soon, very soon, — 

I say, brow^n buds ! 

I say, stout heart, 
Go out into the weather, 
Things of bluffness, 
Things of roughness,— 
That natheless croon together 
O' the earth's new start, 
Giving noted sign and reason 
Of a coming gentle season, 
Very soon, very soon, — 
I say, stout heart ! 



AFTERWORD 203 

Gentle reader, we must live on the 
earth and in time ; but the earth is a 
good earth, and time is very blessed. 
Surely "all good Christian men" (and 
all other creeds also, since it is a 
human matter) ought to be cheerful, 
resolute, buoyantly busy (but not too 
busy), full of that "hope which is the 
evidence of things unseen" and is 
also a sturdy girding for honorable 
work-days amid what we see now. 
If sometimes you be dow^nhearted, 
gloomy, discouraged, may I commend 
to you w^hat is said in January, namely, 
that however it be w^ith one day or 
one month or one season, the total 
year is sure to arrive at its full due of 
heat and cold; also this thought, w^hich 
I have found helpful in my own dismal 
megrims, namely, that if this hour be 
hard, we must summon will to judge 
or interpret by the whole day; or if 
the day be drear, then by the whole 
w^eek; or if the w^eek be wretched. 



204 



AFTERWORD 



then by the whole of the month; or if 
the month be miserable, then by all 
the year; or if the year be desolate, 
then by ten years or a hundred. 

Dear reader, shall we commune in a 
song of this thought ? — to wit : 

There 's a chill in the air, a chill and a 

chill, 
And my heart, my heart I can not 

hold still, 
But it shivers aloof, and cower it 

will. 
In the misty morning gray. 

From my heart, my heart, I turn not 

away, 
E'en though with its darkness it darken 

the day, 
But I question, and hearken the things 

it will say. 
And it tells me the simple truth : 

I am w^eary, it saith, and I miss my 

youth. 
And eke in the w^orld I find little 

ruth; 



AFTERWORD 



I am weary and wish to die, good 
sooth, 
If God will set the time. 



But my heart, my heart, I say, 'tis the 

prime 
Of honor to bide in the ranks, 'tis a 

crime 
To run from thy post in dew or in 

rime. 
Till thou be mustered out; 



And w^hat 'tis a wrong to set thee 

about 
'Tis a wrong to wish, and undevout: 
Who wishes to run is himself a rout. 
Though an army hold him in. 



I spake, and my w^hole heart knew^ its 

sin. 
And lifted its brow, and breathed deep 

in. 
And cried, There is something to do 

and w^in. 
Wherever, w^henever the same. 



205 



206 



AFTERWORD 



If a thousand years betide my name, 
Or only this breath, or failure or 

fame. 
One thing is true glory and one is true 

shame, 
Howbeit I live or die : 



The part that is low, or the part that 

is high, 
Is to run from the thing that I ought 

to stand by. 
Or to face either heaven or hell and 

defy 
Them to draw me or drive or abate. 



For God 's in the little and eke in the 

great. 
Nay, naught is a big or a little estate; 
Who faceth th' Eterne is nor early 

nor late; — 
To hasten, or faint, 'tis one ill. 



Is there chill in the air, a chill and a 

chUl, 
And my heart, my heart I can not 

holdstiU? 



AFTERWORD 



But mighty it shall be, and glory it 
will 
I' some noon, and go its way ! 



God, my God! I thank thee! I 

pray ! 

1 bless thee that noon of the night or 

the day 
Is thy noon still— I can not away ! 
Here 's home, my home ! I stay! 



207 



m 3 19^^ 



;fi;-!S;;U::'i?!!: 



iiiiiiii 




